All the Stars We Steal
by chibiriii
Summary: And after reading endless tales of villains and heroes fighting it out, after pronouncing themselves 'heroes' at the age of eleven years old, after seventeen years of doing the right thing simply because it was the right thing to do, they realized that maybe, just maybe, the world wasn't nearly as black and white as it had appeared.
1. Prologue: Moments

The moment she first realizes she's in love with him is a sigh. And maybe that's wrong, but she's never imagined she'd ever fall in love, anyways.

It's a quaint kind of sigh, with cobblestone streets and a full moon peeking out next to wispy clouds and droplets of rain — not enough to soak, but enough to feel the _drip-drip-drip_ on her hair.

It's a romantic kind of sigh, with soft guitar music and warm, dimly-lit streetlights and orange-red leaves scattered around the street — and one she picks up, to remember the night.

Maybe it's the atmosphere, she thinks, like a faint whisper of a smile, that's influencing her. But really, she knows it's not.

Maybe it's because it's too far away from home for mindless things like awkward silences or questionable pasts to matter, and that's influencing her. But really, she can't imagine it being that either.

Because she's taking it all in — the beautiful view, the gorgeous scenery. She's taking it all in, but her eyes keep drifting to him.

Everyone looks ethereal in this lighting, she tells herself. And he _does: _his eyes are reflecting the moon and the lights, but there's something about him, too, about the look in his eyes, that isn't quaint or romantic — there's a sparkle there, like he's got a secret that he won't share.

She thinks for a second, but just one, when he smiles at her with that sparkle, that she should say something — but she shakes her head, pushing away the thought. It's too risky. Too dangerous for both of them, and ridiculous to boot.

But that doesn't stop her from being in love with him, just the same.

—

The moment he first realizes he's in love with her is a frown. And maybe that's wrong, but he didn't want to fall for her, and certainly not that deep.

It's a worried sort of frown, with a gray tiled room that could not possibly be any more unassuming and an oath that they'll protect with to last breath — with an unnecessarily angry demeanor, one that he can't reveal to her because he's afraid she'll realize what it means.

It's an exasperated sort of frown, with a note passed on a piece of parchment that smells like her perfume and a bad joke she winks at him while saying to try to cheer him up — he can't help but keep the parchment, even though it'd be safer to burn it.

Maybe it's the atmosphere, he thinks, because he's so, _so _scared, and she's got it all together, that's influencing him. But really, he knows it's not.

Maybe it's because it's too dangerous now for mindless things like awkward silences or questionable pasts to matter, and that's influencing him. But really, he can't imagine it being that either.

Because he's taking it all in — the bland cream walls, the sign-up sheet with their names written on it. He's taking it all in, but his eyes keep drifting to her.

Everyone looks that composed, he tells himself. She's scared on the inside, just like him, and everyone in that pale, stark room with the harsh fluorescent lighting. But there's something _different _about her — there's a sparkle there, like she's been waiting for this all her life.

He thinks for a second, but just one, when she smiles at him with that sparkle, that he should say something — but he shakes her head, pushing away the thought. It's too risky. Too dangerous for both of them, and ridiculous to boot.

But that doesn't stop him from being in love with her, just the same.

—

And ultimately, life? It's just a collection of moments, mundane moments and romantic moments and worrying moments and everything in between. Moments where you're correct, and moments where you misunderstand, and moments that mean _everything_ mixed with ones that mean absolutely nothing.

Sometimes, you can pinpoint the moments that shape your life — take them back to an exact place and time. Oftentimes, even those pinpoints are wrong, because _really_, though she likes to think that she was influenced by a romantic atmosphere, she started falling in love with him in sixth year, and _really_, though he likes to think that he was influenced by the imminent life-or-death situation, he started falling in love with her in sixth year, too.

A/N: Do I know exactly what I'm doing? Not really. Am I doing it? Yes. If you've somehow stumbled upon this story, I hope you enjoy it - do leave a review, I'd love to hear what everyone thinks about the story :)


	2. Chapter 1: We Can

Chapter 1: "We Can't All Save the World"

There's never a start to war – never a single, defined moment that one can put a thumbtack to, because everything just _builds _and soon it's impossible to realize which of the falling foundational bricks caused the whole house to crumble down. But if there was to be such a moment, if they were to single out a "start" to fit their end, to condense a story neatly into clean lines and elegant words, it would be this, Moody thinks later. Much later, because every war starts as a single battle, a small fleet of battles, a larger fleet of battles, until suddenly, you look around and realize it is a war, and it has been, perhaps since that very first battle.

The first battle is this: a whispered _Imperio_ through a light, almost golden-colored, wand into the brilliant green eyes of a strong man, once confident but increasingly desperate as he realizes just what he had got himself into. Years of Occlumency training, failing because mental defenses are impossible to keep up for so long, and he's just so _tired. _And just like that, while everyone is sleeping, on a biting winter day in November, 1975, the world slips into what will later be known as war.

* * *

Lily Evans was one of those who would fight that fact, though – the type of person who would argue with a fire in her eyes burning as bright as her auburn hair that the war had never really ceased from Grindelward's time, just been pushed back. That the forces of light had powered over the dark then, but that it wasn't meant to stay that way forever, because there would always be another one.

However, when she woke up in her bed, the one closest to the door on the left-most side of the room she shared with the four other Gryffindor sixth-year girls, that wasn't what she was thinking about, because, of course, she didn't know there was a war at all. Instead, she was thinking about her name. Lily Evans quite disliked her name.

It wasn't because she hated being named after a flower, but because it was _that _flower. Symbolism: devotion and innocence. Frilly dresses, a maiden in need of rescue, stuffed animals and everything else precious.

Of course, she didn't mind most of those things: she rather liked wearing dresses, still kept stuffed animals on her bed, and had quite a large of things the other members of her house deemed 'cute but useless'. She quoted Jane Austen and put clips in her hair and wore high heels.

However, what she did mind was what she called the 'pure maiden' interpretation. People named Lily in books – for she got a large amount of her knowledge base from them, having done very little else besides reading in a tiny treehouse at the edge of the woods that were a ten-minute bicycle ride away from her childhood home – weren't doers. They were beautiful, and pure, and occasionally brilliant, but she had never heard of a main character in an adventure novel being named Lily. And she wanted to be one.

It was perhaps this thought that led her to hate James Potter in the first place, all those years ago, even before he'd hexed her and after she'd rejected becoming friends with him, that first day at the Great Hall. 'James' was a name like that too. It was a name for poets, maybe, and writers, but not Quidditch players. People named James weren't doers – so how could he so effortlessly become one? In reality, he didn't much care for his reputation, but she cared rather a lot about hers, and she was naïve enough and just a little bit foolish enough to think that everyone thought like her. But of course, she would learn it in time.

Back to her, though – Lily Evans, a Muggle-born witch, seventeen years old next January. She was pretty, but in an average way: the kind of girl that you wouldn't notice out on the street, but realize that she was really quite beautiful if you looked into her eyes, a deep, rich green color that felt sort of earthy, like a reflection of the forest. She quite liked that, because it sounded like something out of an Oscar Wilde novel. That was another reason why she had never liked James, and, unfortunately – or well, fortunately for her – that one was not very accurate either, because although he teased her for it relentlessly, James Potter had spent many hours reading in the Potter family library himself, which – once again – she would learn in time.

"Get up Lily, breakfast is almost over!" A cheery voice sing-songed, and suddenly the curtains around her bed were opened to reveal bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Lily groaned, lifting her hands to shield her eyes from the sunlight. She was _not _a morning person, but the girl in front of her – Anne Bainsbridge, a petite blonde with a penchant for fashion and driving Lily mad every morning, most definitely was.

Anne was pretty, but in a more striking way than Lily: her hair was so light it was almost white, but her eyes were a deep, chocolate brown and there was something about her that made you want to look twice. She was bubbly and outgoing, a great friend but also someone Lily had had to reign back so many times because she was just so _reckless_, so utterly Gryffindor that Lily could not fathom how she had been a Hat Stall (two-and-a-half minutes). She got up early in the mornings to watch the sunrise from the Astronomy Tower, and her best friend was one Remus Lupin, who any outsider could tell she had a crush on (and if they couldn't, she'd tell them – she said she liked to process these sorts of things through talking about them, but really, she just wanted word to get back to him so he'd say he was interested, or say he wasn't interested, or whatever.)

Anne Bainsbridge, however, was also the bane of Lily's existence at the moment, and it took everything Lily had to not pull her covers up and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Lily was quite hungry, and anyways, Anne definitely would not let her sleep, so instead, she pulled the covers off and reluctantly got up.

* * *

After a long, arduous process of about twenty minutes, Lily was finally rewarded with arriving at the Great Hall. She sat down at the very middle seat on the left side of the table, directly opposite to Anne. On her left side was Peter Pettigrew, a blond-haired, pink-cheeked boy with just a bit more baby fat than was 'cute' and just a slightly rounder jawline than was 'sharp'. Lily liked Peter just enough to sit next to him, but then everyone did – he was a master at witty jokes if you liked to hear that sort of thing, and he could carry on a conversation well enough otherwise. On her right side was Marlene McKinnon, a tall girl with hair as red as Lily's but a bit more vibrant, another of her roommates, although admittedly the one she knew the least about. Marlene did not really talk that much to Lily; she didn't talk to anyone much at all. She was of the rare type that preferred to always be by herself, and she only really talked at mealtimes when something monumental had happened. Lily looked at the breakfast selections, peering curiously although she knew everything was almost always the same, and then took a large bowl of fruit, because she had made a bet with Lydia Brown, one of her best friends (along with Anne) who lived in her dormitory (although Lydia always went to breakfast early nowadays), that she could eat healthy for a longer time. So far, they were up to twenty-seven days with neither of them having backed down.

"Lily, have you seen the daily _Prophet_?" Marlene asked when Lily had taken her first bite of cantaloupe. Lily shook her head 'no', and motioned for Marlene to go on.

"They've published a ransom letter from some Lord Voldemort fellow." Lily's eyes went very wide at this, and – though she'd deny it later – her face went very pale. She had kept up with the news interestedly in the past few years, wanting to be informed on politics because she wouldn't stay in the Hogwarts bubble forever, and knew exactly what this "Lord" had in mind for people like her, and Lydia, who was also a Muggleborn.

"'If the Minister does not step down immediately, the Auror Cattermole will be disposed of, and I'd hate to see any pure-blood spilled at the hands of the Ministry.'" Marlene continued, not meeting Lily's eyes but with a quiver in her voice that made Lily suspect she was much more rattled than she appeared, which scared Lily more than even the letter, because Marlene was normally one of the most calm people she'd ever met, and she wouldn't be scared unless it was for good reason.

"Do you think they'd really do it?" Lily asked, knowing the response but wanting to hope that someone would prove her wrong.

"Nah, if the Ministry's got any sense they'd realize there's no way he's going to be left alive either way." James Potter, a tall boy with messy jet-black hair and circular glasses who was sitting a couple seats down the table, interjected. Lily glared at him, both for interrupting the conversation (although could she really consider it interrupting when he was almost right next to them?) and for saying the harsh words she'd known would be the correct answer.

"Shouldn't they save him then?" Peter asked from next to Lily, saying the words she thought, and James sighed, shaking his head a bit.

"They should, but have they got the Aurors?" James replied smoothly, and his hand did not shake while he buttered his toast, even with such a gruesome subject matter. Lily still thought he seemed off today somehow, and scanned him, when it struck her what was odd: his whole body was still – from the leg that was constantly shaking under the table, to the eyes that were lifeless when they were usually full of laughter, to the hand currently picking up a grape. No, this most definitely was not normal.

"They wouldn't just let him _die_." Peter replied, his brow furrowed. Lily nodded, agreeing – since when had the world come to such desperation that they would just let Cattermole, one of the most experienced Aurors, die? Wasn't it worth it to save his life, even if it wasn't worth it to save anyone else's?

She looked for Reg Cattermole, a fifth year and the Auror's son, at the Ravenclaw table, but he looked – well, normal really, laughing and joking around with his friends, which ordinarily would be commonplace in Hogwarts, but there was a subdued air this morning, and everyone spoke in whispers besides him and the Slytherin table.

"'Suppose so." James shrugged, and then no one spoke for a bit, because it _was _frightening to think that an auror had been kidnapped, but only for a bit, because then Sirius Black (ironically, a laid-back boy who was anything _but _serious), James' best friend who had the same dark hair as him but with grey eyes instead of brown ones, made some joke to James, who was sitting next to him, and then he laughed and told it to Peter, and then they started having a conversation, and then some spell broke and conversations broke out all over the Gryffindor Table. When Lily, who had been engrossed in talking to Anne about the new Potions assignment ("God, wasn't it such a bore?" "I swear Slughorn assigns more busy work than real NEWTs prep"), looked up, everyone else had started talking too. Reg Cattermole had left.

* * *

One note about Reg Cattermole: he most definitely could _not _stand this type of attention. He had bright red hair, dark brown eyes, and a consistently-rumpled blue tie. The Sorting Hat had nearly put him into Hufflepuff, because really, he was about as carefree as it got (but he wanted Ravenclaw, and all his family had been Ravenclaw, so it had begrudgingly agreed). He liked to play pranks; he wanted to have fun in life, and he was the most easygoing of almost the entire fifth year.

So, when he got the news about his father, he acted in a very strange way: he did not act as though it had happened at all for a few minutes, choosing instead to ignore the _Prophet _laid out in front of him and the kind, concerned, and annoying, stares from the other members of his House. But then, coincidentally of course, he felt an overwhelming migraine come on, the kind that hits so hard it feels like your brain is throbbing, and he left the Great Hall, ending up instead in the secluded alcove behind the tapestry of the sleeping knight on the sixth floor, coincidentally, of course.

He went there, sat in the single wooden rocking-chair dusty alcove that might well have been a forgotten broom closet, with the amount of cleaning supplies present, and he waited, and he tried to prepare himself for the article he knew would be coming out soon, the one that would say _"Auror killed by Lord Voldemort"_, because for all he acted like a Hufflepuff, he was still a Ravenclaw, and besides that, he was no fool. He took deep, even breaths – well, tried to, but somehow they just came out shallow, and before he knew it, tears were rolling down his face. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stave off the hope that maybe – just maybe – they would save him.

It was ridiculous, really, not very logical at all though he prided himself on his calm mind, and he knew that there were too few Aurors to spare, especially with the random Muggle killings that had been happening recently – it occurred to him then that they were probably done by this Lord Voldemort – and anyways, it wasn't a good look to bow down to those in power, especially with the government being this unstable already.

But it didn't stop him from staying in the dusty alcove and hoping, right up until it was time for his first class of the day (Potions, which he actually quite adored, although Slughorn was one of his least favorite professors). And when he left, he would think later, he left a piece of his heart right there on the dirt-covered ground.

* * *

A few hours later, Lily started to her next class, and the first one that she would see her friend and dormmate, Lydia Brown, in all day, Ancient Runes. The two had partnered up together since the beginning of third year, and though she'd never tell, Lily thought that Lydia was easily one of the most brilliant people she'd ever known.

Lydia Brown was not very plain, but neither did she stand out; she was quieter than either Anne or Lily, but not so quiet as Marlene. She had straight black hair that fell slightly below her shoulders and light brown eyes that could almost pass for amber in bright lighting. She wore her skirts to near-perfect regulation, but not exactly perfect, and she did not add any accessories except for a silver bracelet that used to be her mother's. She wasn't stuck-up, but she wasn't self-deprecating, either. If Lily (or really anyone) had to describe Lydia in one word, she would say "normal", but she was also amazing in her own, perfectly average way, and got along with a lot more people than Anne or Lily (who had fiery enough personalities that they were somewhat steered clear of).

The only thing that Lily could not guess at is how Reg Cattermole and Lydia had ended up having an Autumn Break fling, and Lydia was notoriously short on details, saying only that both their families had ended up vacationing in the same place, which was already quite remarkable considering Autumn Break was only four days long, and getting reduced every year besides (soon, Lily thought, there would be no break left, all thanks to the Board of Governors and their want to eliminate fun in all of Hogwarts).

She didn't think about any of these things as she went to sit beside Lydia, though – Lily had accepted that Lydia just needed time. The problem was that, in the meantime, Lydia was coming to meals early to avoid Cattermole, who everyone knew took his meals rather late, for whatever reason. As such, Lily barely got to talk to Lydia if it wasn't in Ancient Runes.

"Hi" Lydia greeted simply, "have you seen the _Prophet?"_

"I have." Lily replied, taking out her quill – a special one given to her by Severus on her fourteenth birthday (she couldn't justify throwing it away, when it wrote so nicely, and there was a little part of her that wanted to be reminded that she had once been friends with Severus today, when she had looked over at the Slytherin table and seen him smirking at the news) and an inkpot.

"D'you think it'll be alright?" Lydia said, and there was an edge to her voice that was strangely unfamiliar. Lily had lived with Lydia for six years, and she'd never heard quite that one.

"I'm sure the Aurors will think of something." Lily replied, and smiled. Lydia smiled back, and that was the end of the conversation, because Professor Billywings had come into the room, and he took points off if he heard even a single letter breathed during his class.

* * *

Anne Bainbridge was not ugly, nor was she altogether unpleasant to talk to, and she didn't have bad breath, nor did she smell, nor anything of the sort. Really, she was an attractive sort of girl, she thought, and though she was not the most popular girl in Hogwarts, neither was she lacking in potential boyfriends, if she wanted one.

The only problem was that she didn't just want anyone: she wanted _him_. Remus Lupin, her best friend of seven years, ever since she had asked him if he was a werewolf on the first day she'd met him.

She could look back on it fondly now, but when she had been a child, she never would have thought she'd fall for him, or even become friends.

_"Hullo, I'm Anne." Anne struck out her hand to the boy she'd been partnered with for the first day of Potions, a quiet Gryffindor in her year she hadn't talked to at the feast, and Remus looked at it nervously, but eventually took it. His grip was too strong, and he stuttered over his introduction, but she didn't notice. She was too focused on the mark on his collarbone that she had briefly caught a glimpse of, recognizing what it meant._

_"Are you a werewolf?" She asked bluntly, and he jumped back as if he'd been stung. _

_"I—I don't mind, you know, I just couldn't help seeing the mark." Anne added, but Remus stayed silent, looking almost terrified. _

_"How do you know what a werewolf bite looks like?" He finally asked, looking at her up and down like he was suspicious, but with the same caged expression. He hadn't covered it because he had been assured no one would be able to tell what it was, but he was starting to think maybe he should have used a glamour after all. _

_"My aunt is one. A werewolf, I mean. So I don't mind." Anne said, smiling at him in an effort to look more friendly. _

_"I didn't know there were people who didn't mind werewolves." Remus replied, but some of the fear left his eyes. _

_"Let's be friends, yeah?" Anne smiled brightly, and Remus nodded. _

At the time, she hadn't thought she could really talk to such a quiet person, but that was before she got partnered with him for nearly every class – apparently they had the same skill level – and before she really got to talking with him.

Now, they were practically inseparable, taking nearly the same classes and studying together every day. And they just – they just _fit_, you know? It wasn't that she had always fancied him, or even that she had fancied him for a long time. It had really only been a month – they'd been in the library, at the second table at the back just like always, and she looked up and saw him working intently on the History of Magic essay that was due in two days, and it occurred to her then, that she would really rather like to date Remus.

And then she ducked her head, and kept working on the Defense of the Dark Arts essay she'd procrastinated on for nearly a week, but the idea wouldn't leave her mind, and now it'd been a whole _month _and it was still bouncing around there.

Anne had tried – she'd tried a _lot _– to get it to leave her head, but it wasn't working, and she knew there would be a time when she'd have to tell him. There would be, but she was quite afraid, and for now, she wanted to take the path of least resistance, because God knows her grades depended on it, with the amount of NEWTs practice McGonagall was assigning already. So when Remus arrived for their usual study session (he had Arithmancy before, while she had a free period), she pretended, as she usually did, that she didn't feel anything at all. And they studied, and it was a comfortable sort of atmosphere.

* * *

The next day, in Potions, Lily noticed James Potter was acting funny.

Well, everyone was acting a bit funny, but James Potter especially. And Lily wasn't sure if everyone was just pretending not to notice (they weren't), or if she truly was the only one to see something so obvious (she was).

Because every time she looked at him, he had that obviously-painted smile on his face, and every time anyone talked to him, he replied in that eerily smooth tone. He hadn't always been like that, Lily was sure, although admittedly, she hadn't been paying close attention.

All the parts that made him up were there, from the humor to the talent to the boy himself, Lily knew, but there was something intangible, a certain je ne sais quoi that was missing. What made him _James Potter_, the boy that had infuriated Lily for so long, was gone; in its place was some sort of lifeless zombie. And she knew that she should let it alone, and she knew that she didn't have any right to go around talking like they were friends, but this? This was just odd.

He was pretending to be okay, just like the rest of them, but he was trying _so much harder _than everyone else, and it was so forceful it was unnatural. Lily wasn't sure why - it was the first time she had ever seen James so unsure, and although she liked to say she was worried about him, the truth was that she was curious, mostly; there was no lost love between them (thank God he'd stopped asking her out – and really talking to her at all – in sixth year), and she justified it by saying she rather thought that if he had needed anyone to console him, it would not be her. That, of course, did not make her want to ask him about it any less (but she wasn't that much of a fool). But she stayed watching. Even now, he was stirring a bit mechanically.

It was just her luck that the potion they were brewing today, the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, required a lot of waiting in between steps — in an attempt to stop thinking about James, she met Severus's eyes no less than three different times.

_Stop it Lily, _she said to herself, knowing she should have moved on by now, but she couldn't help but hope that he wasn't a part of Lord Voldemort's followers, at least. Didn't he owe her that much? But there'd been so many rumors going around school lately — you could never really know who to trust.

As she added the last ingredient, wormwood, to her potion, waiting for it to turn yellow so she could bottle it up and leave (Slughorn didn't mind if she left early, so long as her grades continued to be high, and she was sure he especially wouldn't mind it if his favorite student had a headache that she simply could not seem to be rid of), she told herself to stop looking at Severus, instead taking a glance at her cauldron - it was already at an orange-yellow sunset color, and it looked quite beautiful.

Out of habit, she looked over at Sev's, and it was still orange: he must have added something else, for potency or maybe for the side effects. He had always been ingenious that way, truly caring about potions for the sake of the potion, not using them as a tool like Lily did. It was one of the things she had liked best around him: when he talked about these sorts of things, asphodel and shrivelfig and bobutuber pus and whatever else, his eyes lit up and his face, hardened by his childhood, lost ten years.

She couldn't still be friends with him, though: he'd chosen his side, and it was with the people who thought she was inferior to him. She had repeated these words over and over back in fifth year, so much so that they'd almost lost their meaning, and they still held true now. Just — missed opportunities, you know? They were supposed to be _best friends_, and she knew that if he had been sorted into any other House, it wouldn't have been that bad, and really it was his mates that were corrupting him. She glared at the friends in question: Cleo Nott was still adding castor beans, while Matthew Avery was sweating over a potion that had somehow, inexplicably, turned blue. Really, he deserved better (although come to think of it, she hadn't been that good in first year either, not until Sev had taught her the concepts). He deserved better, but if he was so hell-bent on making his life miserable, she couldn't really stop him, could she?

* * *

Though Lily thought she was the only who had noticed James being so odd, there were in fact others who were concerned – namely, Sirius Black.

"So, I'm glad you've all decided to come to this exceptionally import—" Sirius started, once he'd shut the door fully, used a _Muffliato, _and faced Peter and Remus.

"You dragged us into this broom closet." Remus interjected, crossing his arms over his chest, though they all knew he wasn't really mad (how could he have become friends with them otherwise?).

"Trying to snog us, Sirius?" Peter added amusedly.

"Well, whoever's genius idea it was to come here, it's irrelevant. Friends, I hate to say it, but we have a problem." Sirius's eyes turned stormy and intense.

"Is there another girl who's trying to slip you a Love Potion? Or has she hexed you now? Another… shrinking accident?" Peter asked jokingly, and Sirius put his hand to his heart like he'd been wounded.

"We agreed to never speak of that again! But this is – pardon the pun – _serious!_ How do we fix James?" Sirius cried.

"You can't fix him, he's not a sort of doll," Remus replied, "you've just got to let him get over it."

"Isn't there something we could do, though? Operation Fix-James?" Sirius pleaded hopefully.

"I think this is something unfixable, mate" Peter said sadly. "Sometimes, people just change."

"That's dumb. I don't change." Sirius said.

"Many would say that's one of your greatest faults." Remus sighed, and walked over to the doorknob. "If you've really got nothing to say, I'm going to get back to studying." With that, he left.

"D'you think he thinks he's being subtle?" Sirius asked, and Peter nodded a "yes".

"Remus is just thick enough to not realize his heart eyes are obvious to anyone who's paid more than ten seconds of attention."

"And hers."

"And hers." Peter agreed, "You think maybe we could speed them up?"

"Now that, Wormy, is a brilliant idea if I've ever heard one." Sirius grinned, and lit up. Peter was glad: an unhappy Sirius Black was no good, after all. Good thing he had a one-track mind, and the attention span of a squirrel to go with it.

* * *

When Remus had gotten back to the library table he spent hours working at every day, he found Anne staring into space, blankly chewing on the end of a Sugar Quill, which was not uncommon, especially considering the topic she was working on (Arithmancy was a bit of a bore, to say the least). The sight was funny and – if he was admitting it – endearing, and he smiled as he pulled out his chair.

"Remus! You're back! Please help!" Anne blinked her eyes and exclaimed in a whisper, "I think I might actually die of boredom working on this problem."

"Which one?"

"Number seventeen from the practice questions in class. You know, I was thinking today, and it's rather remarkable how absolutely awful I am at Arithmancy; you'd think after taking it for a couple years, I would at least remember the basic formulas, right? But I'm still at exactly the same level I was before I wasn't even at Hogwarts." Anne said thoughtfully, and Remus actually grinned at this – he couldn't deny that Anne wasn't the best at Arithmancy, but she did it anyways, purely because McGonagall had said she wouldn't be able to even scrape a pass back in third year, and he thought her ridiculous level of stubbornness to pursue a subject she could not care less for was also endearing, maybe even inspiring in a way.

"You got an E on the OWL." Remus quipped, because somehow, some way, she had.

"I do believe that's because of my tutor, who made me do practice problems until I dropped." Anne replied, cocking her head to the side. Remus remembered those times – she had stayed up for two days straight, powered by an ungodly amount of coffee, working through every single concept that could be covered on the exam.

"You must have a rather brilliant tutor, then." Remus said, though he knew it had really been all her.

"Yes, I'm quite lucky. So, number seventeen?"

"Alright, so what you do is—" Remus started, and they studied, and it was a comfortable sort of atmosphere.

* * *

Contrary to everyone's opinions, James Potter did not know he was in a rut, or how mechanical his movements seemed to anyone who was looking. All he knew was that his world was falling apart, but then how could his world fall apart, because he hadn't _really _been injured, had he, not like Cattermole or like Sirius or like everyone else had been or would be.

He was one of the rare few who saw this for what it was, or perhaps he was just one of those who couldn't stand not acknowledging the terrible, harsh reality for what it was – a power play. Lord Voldemort wanted to make sure everyone knew his name, and kidnapping, and later killing, Cattermole was the easiest way to achieve that goal.

He was also one of the few who truly knew, beyond a reasonable fraction of a doubt, that the same Lord Voldemort had been behind the recent Muggle town massacres, and really he was one of a minority of people who knew these killings had happened _at all, _owing to the fact that his father (like all old family heads) had contacts in the Ministry, but could not keep a secret from his son to save his life (years of "surprise" birthday presents that James had learned about a month beforehand had proved that). Innocent civilians being murdered, just for living their lives.

And when you consider that he knew that, how could you possibly think he was okay? No, James Potter was not alright. But he had to be, because he also couldn't stand himself if he went around being depressed – after all, what did he have to lose? He was pureblood, his parents were high-up officials in the Ministry, he had all the money he would need to not work a day in his life; he had no _right _to feel this way, not like everyone else. So instead, he tried to fool everyone, with hands that he forced to hold still and eyes that he forced to betray nothing.

It hadn't slipped his mind that Lily Evans was paying him close attention, either; he just didn't care enough to stop it. It didn't matter anymore, not really, what she thought of him. Once upon a time, it had been the most important thing in the world, her opinion of him, but it had all gone away, seemingly overnight, when that edition of the _Prophet _had come out and he'd realize that the world was going to have a big upheaval soon.

She was staring at him now, even, from across the room. He met her eyes, in a sort-of-glare that was not truly antagonist, but not entirely friendly, either. It was a mixture of some sort of combination of emotions, but when he looked at Lily, he was only met with confusion and curiosity in return. It made him quite angry, really: he had half a mind to hex her, when he was being studied with those green eyes like he was a particularly interesting Potion.

* * *

Reg Cattermole was also one of the few who had made the connection, and he was also trying to keep his feelings a secret, but he did not succeed: Lydia found him on the fourth lunch he'd taken in the room.

He took all his meals to the alcove, nowadays – the dust, the corner of his heart there were much better company than the pitying stares of half of Hogwarts, and the sneers of the other half. And inside the alcove, he didn't have to pretend that everything was okay the way he did outside. It was suffocating now, being around his friends, having fun, keeping up his reputation, and he didn't know how he'd ever enjoyed it.

No one had ever seen him go into the alcove, and he stayed just long enough at mealtimes that no one was worried, or that's what he hoped at least. But today had been especially bad (no news from the _Prophet_, but a tear-stained letter from his mother who somehow didn't see through his strong façade, and owled him every other day to say how worried she was), and he'd been a little too careless, not Disillusioning but instead hoping that no one would be around in the corridor because of lunch.

(As it turns out, no one would have been, but Lydia happened to be walking back from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower, for she had a free period, and had seen Cattermole there too, and he appeared to be crying.)

The doorknob shook, the door swung open, and the worried eyes of Lydia Brown met his.

"Are you quite alright?" She asked, but then appeared to realize it was a terrible sort of thing to ask, when evidently he was _not _alright, judging by the tears pooling in his eyes and the tracks on his cheeks. Instead, she bit her lip, and, in one sudden motion, leaned over and hugged him.

It was really rather remarkable, he would think later, the power of a human touch. He didn't know what came over him, but he felt the desire to tell her – anything, everything, he didn't know.

"I got—a letter—from my mum." He said finally, and his voice was thick and muffled from being pressed against her shirt.

Lydia simply sighed, and held him close.

"It's okay to not be alright all the time." She said, after a long pause that seemed filled with tension, in some odd way. And then she said nothing at all, and they just stayed like that, until lunch ended, and then he bolted out of the room as quickly as he could.

Damn. He'd never be able to look her in the eye again, would he? Reg sighed, but there wasn't much else he could do, anyways.

She was there the next lunch, too.

* * *

Lydia Brown really did not know what was happening with Reginald Cattermole.

She had avoided him for so long, because their – what was it even considered? – fling, she supposed, had ended on a rather abrupt note. They'd just met up one day, and the spark hadn't been there, and then they didn't talk anymore; there was no reason for it, or that was what she told herself. (Of course, there _was _a reason, but she didn't realize that yet.) And how did one really act around someone that they'd kissed during Autumn Break at sunset in a field just a few blocks from Hogsmeade?

That didn't mean she didn't still care about him, though, even just as a friend (and really, as 'something more', too, but she'd never tell), and she had (of course) seen what was approximately the most loosely-kept secret at Hogwarts: Reg was _not _coping.

That was why she had followed him when he had ducked into that corridor on the sixth floor, and that was why she kept going back – because he'd never told her not to, and she knew better than anyone that even the mere presence of a person helped. She wanted to do that. Help.

But, she thought with a sigh, nothing would _truly _help him but getting news, because even if his father had been struck down with the end of a Death Eater wand, a wound could never heal if it was never properly closed up. The waiting had to be killing him, and all she could do was try to help with the fallout.

* * *

"I thought you were in love with him, at one point." Lydia said, two days later, evenly, from her seat on Lily's right – she had caught Lily staring at Severus during breakfast again.

"I never was." Lily replied, a bit stonily, but then, she wasn't the type to talk about these kinds of things unless she was asked.

"I can see that. You're not looking at him like you love him: you're just looking at him like a science experiment. Lily, did you even like him?"

"What? Of course I did! He was my best friend!" Lily exclaimed, but still in a low enough voice no one would hear.

"Did you like him for what he was, or what he could be?"

Lily shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure", she admitted.

"Lily — you're just trying to _save _him." Lydia sighed, knowing that her friend had good intentions, but there was no way to save Severus. Anyone could see he was too far gone, and she suspected Lily knew that too, but Lily always was an optimist of the worst sort.

"Save him?"

"Save him. Because he's part of the world, and you want to save the world, and you think that's how to start."

"I just think— if he was like how he was before, it would be nice." Lily said in a very quiet voice, so faint Lydia had to strain to hear it.

"He's not the same person anymore."

"Why can't he be?" Lily asked, finally meeting Lydia's eyes and speaking in a defensive tone, loud enough this time that Anne and Marlene, who were chatting animatedly about something-or-the-other two seats away, took notice. She seemed to realize immediately that she'd been too loud though, and looked back at her hands.

"Because he's made his choices." Breakfast was almost over, and Lydia shifted her eggs around her plate. There was really no reason to come early now that she was alright with Cattermole, but it still felt strange to go back to her old ways when everything had changed.

"He was influenced."

"You wouldn't have done that under any circumstance."

"He went through a tough time, and I just think—"

"But you tried your best, Lily. You did everything you could've done." Lydia interrupted, perhaps a bit more fiercely than she should have, but she was tired of Lily trying so hard just to get hurt.

"But what if— what if, I could've saved him?" She said in a whisper, looking down at her hands.

"You tried your very best. And _that's enough._" Lydia replied, after a short pause, and got up to go to History of Magic.

* * *

Lydia's voice thrummed in her head, for the rest of the day. But no matter how she tried to justify it, those first words had stuck out the most to her.

"_Did you like him for what he was or what he could've been?"_

She didn't know, truly. There was a Severus who was kind to her, who told her about magic, who she spent hours with in the library. But there was also a Severus who called her 'Mudblood', and hung around with Avery. And which one was the true one? She thought it was the former, sure, but what if she was wrong and she assumed maliciously?

Out of everything in the world Lily hated, she hated misunderstandings the most. Because ultimately, if you misunderstood a person as someone worse than they were, you were doing them a wrong. And she liked to think that she was someone who would try to not do any wrong.

She was the type to assume the best in a person; there was something loveable in everyone, after all. She'd resolved to be optimistic no matter what, especially on the content of a person's character, because she knew she could always right herself, but it was impossible to consider how deeply you'd hurt someone else. It was impossible to pick up the pieces of someone else.

But mostly, it was because she well and truly wanted to believe that Severus was the former. She was desperate for any sign he'd changed, but he didn't give her even the slightest hint of it.

* * *

It was a Saturday when the news they'd been waiting for came.

It was a Saturday when they saw a blood splatter on the front page of the _Prophet, _a result they'd known all this time but had not wanted to think about.

It was a Saturday when Reginald Cattermole ran out of the Great Hall, and Lydia Brown traced his path with her eyes, but did not leave from her place on the table.

It was a Saturday when James Potter's eyes really hardened, and Sirius Black truly realized what a war meant.

It was a Saturday when Lily Evans felt a deep, unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach that would never lift for the rest of her life, and when Anne Bainsbridge felt a calling to fight like nothing else.

And though some say the war started much earlier than that, and perhaps they would be right, there is no denying that this Saturday, and the second-to-last Thursday before that, were the days that everyone _felt it_.

A/N: Wow, this chapter was NOT fun to post, but it's up now, and hopefully another one should be up by the end of the week! I hope you liked it; have a good day, yeah? Reviews are also appreciated since I'm a beginner at this haha


	3. Chapter 2: Distractions

Chapter Two: "Distractions"

No one could have guessed the day, but everyone could guess the news was coming eventually, most of all one Reginald (Reg) Cattermole. The sinking feeling in his chest as he climbed up the stairs to Dumbledore's office (he'd officially been called for prefect business, but he knew it was just an excuse, because he had been dead on his feet during rounds for the past week and a half) grew and grew, until it seemed like he was a black hole, sucking in all the misery that was around him – and there was a lot. He was numb, but someone was poking him through the numbness.

Once he'd opened the heavy wooden door into Dumbledore's office, Dumbledore took one look at him, and the second their eyes met, Reg knew for sure.

"He's—he's dead, isn't he?" He asked, and the lack of reply was as good an answer as any. He wasn't numb anymore, and suddenly he could feel all the pain he'd tried to hide so much hitting him at once. Tears pricked the back of his eyes, and he focused on the reddish-brown rug in front of him.

"I thought maybe you would want to take a break from school for a short while, for the funeral." The Headmaster's kind words shook Reg out of his thoughts, and he nodded. He was already barely getting through schoolwork, after all, and it simply would not do to show this sort of weakness to everyone around him.

"I've already asked your mother, and she said she was alright with that. You can go to the dorms, pack up your things, and then come back here and leave through the Floo in, say, fifteen minutes?" Reg nodded again.

"And Reginald – I'm truly sorry."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Reg replied, in as sincere a tone he could manage, but it came out stilted and awkward – all wrong. He had to get a grip.

Later, Reg would think of this moment and realize he could remember a thing of the walk up to Ravenclaw tower, or most of the walk back to Dumbledore's office. The only thing he could remember was somehow ending up hugging Lydia on the seventh floor, though he did not know how he had gotten there, because he didn't need to be there, and then breaking away, and then it was blank once more.

* * *

James Potter did not blink in response to this news. In fact, he did not blink for a full two minutes and thirty-six seconds, which was a problem in and of itself, for James Potter rarely went a minute without blinking (he had dry eyes).

He simply continued looking at the paper, eating his porridge robotically. There was only one question in his mind, of course – there had only ever been one, all this time. _How do we fix this?_

"Prongs, mate, what's got you so intrigued?" Sirius, who was sitting to his left, asked with a grin – he never got the _Prophet, _for he had "no use for boring things like news".

"Stop joking around, and read." Remus passed Sirius his copy of the newspaper with a stony glance that he reserved only for those rare moments he was annoyed (though they had been increasing in number recently – Sirius had always said it was because Anne was ignoring Remus, but James knew it had started long before).

"Alright, alright" Sirius replied, still with the same easygoing posture and smile, but as soon as he read the headline, James felt his best friend stiffen up next to him.

"They didn't—" Sirius began, "they didn't save him?"

"You were one of the people who said they wouldn't." Peter, who had been silently eating a rather large bowl of fruit (he was going on a fruits-and-vegetable-only diet, he had said during the previous dinner) up until this point, replied.

"I mean, yeah, but I never thought they actually wouldn't, y'know?" Sirius said, turning to James, who just helplessly shrugged.

"The bigger question is, what's going to happen next?" Remus said with a hint of emotion in his eyes, though the rest of his face betrayed nothing (as per usual).

"How do we fix this?" James finally asked, and his voice sounded strained.

"We don't, mate – the Ministry'll round him up, they always do." Sirius remarked confidently.

"Yeah, don't you remember that one serial killer in fourth year? They got him in three months!" Peter added.

* * *

At the same time, at nearly the opposite end of the table, near the entrance to the Great Hall – Anne had (somehow) overslept, and not woken up either Lydia or Lily – an entirely different topic was being discussed, though it was still in reference to the news of Auror Cattermole.

"Can you _believe _– third page of the paper – _third, _when it's one of our best Aurors!" Lydia sputtered angrily.

"They've probably got a good reason for it, Lydia." Lily soothed, although privately she agreed.

"Honestly, though, it's a real injustice isn't it?" Anne asked conversationally, filling up her cup of orange juice half-full.

"It _is_, for sure." Lydia agreed. "Really, with some damn Quidditch news making it into the first page instead – as if people don't care more about an Auror dying because of some mad dark wizard than they do about _Quidditch."_

"To be fair, a great deal of people probably care about what happens between the Wasps and the Harpies." Lily said, buttering her toast.

"Yeah, it's honestly one of the most important matches of the season, this could even determine who gets into _playoffs_—" Anne stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Lydia's face.

"As if Quidditch matters when the second-in-command Auror has died!" Lydia declared, and with a final, angry look over at the Slytherin table (and the Ravenclaws, too, but only as an afterthought), she got up and left.

Anne and Lily looked at each other, and shrugged.

"To tell the truth, I don't think it's _that _big a deal – won't the Ministry catch this Voldemort guy soon? I mean, they captured Auror Cattermole when he was alone?" Anne asked.

"Just leave her be – it's hit her hard, with how she and Cattermole have become." Lily answered.

* * *

For Lydia, however, it wasn't just because she had grown attached to Reg over the summer. The whole encounter would be painted forever in her mind – later on, she would think that when she died, it would be one of the moments that she could not help but see.

It started with this: Lydia storming out from the breakfast table, and then seeing Reg Cattermole, looking absolutely _destroyed_. Lydia went over to him.

"Are you alright?" She asked, echoing their first meeting. She didn't know what else to say – he looked… broken, or haunted, perhaps. It was a look that she'd never seen before, and it scared her, especially on the easygoing face of Reg Cattermole. She wished it had been someone else, but it was a wicked thought, because ultimately someone would suffer, anyways. It just—shouldn't have been _him_, you know?

She embraced him, because if she was honest she couldn't think of anything else to do, but he stood as lifeless as a statue, and only when she asked him where he was going did he mumble "Dumbledore's office—I'm leaving". He left, then, taking slow, measured steps that were so ridiculously different from his usual casual gait.

The look in his eyes would haunt her forever, and at once she realized why exactly war was so bad. Because really, when it came down to it, war was just a million of _those _looks. And it scared her more than anything because she knew war was coming.

* * *

"So, now that there has been news—" Emmeline Dunn, Ravenclaw seventh year and the Head Girl, started, but her sharp eyes narrowed at Lily and Remus, who were talking in whispers about the Transfiguration essay due early the next week and abruptly stopped, looking back at her guiltily.

"So, now that there has been news, we will resume activities as normal. Here are the patrol schedules for this month." She gestured to the sheets of parchment in front of her. "Please remain vigilant and report to either me or Frank" – Gryffindor seventh year, Frank Longbottom, was absent from this meeting – "if there are any reports of Dark activity around the castle." A couple Slytherins snickered at this, but were silenced by another narrowing of Emmeline's eyes. Lily thought she would make a good schoolteacher.

"Dismissed." Emmeline said finally, and the Prefects shuffled up to the head of the long, cherry-oak table that they had been sitting at to collect their patrol schedules.

"Lily, if I could have a word with you?" The girl in question looked up from her patrol schedule (no patrols with Remus, and none this week, either), and nodded, giving a brief look to Remus to tell him to go ahead to the Common Room. She couldn't imagine what Emmeline had to say to her, since they hadn't interacted beyond Prefect meetings the whole year.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard about the Head selection process"—here, Lily shook her head and her heart raced – "there's one nomination from each of the Houses, and one from the current Head, and then the Headmaster decides from those." Emmeline continued, looking slightly annoyed that Lily hadn't known what she was talking about.

"Okay." Lily replied, but this only served to annoy Emmeline more.

"I'm deciding who to nominate right now, and you're one suitable candidate." Lily's eyes widened at this. She'd never really seriously thought about being Head Girl, per se, but the idea had crossed her mind once or twice. Head Girls were usually spectacular, though, and she – just wasn't. Sure, Lily had good marks and she was nice enough, but she wasn't _spectacular _at anything. She gestured for Emmeline to go on.

"This would mean a lot of time and dedication. Would you be alright with it? The position is usually about ten to twenty hours of time per week, and you'd be a role model for all the younger students." Emmeline said in her no-nonsense manner. "Think about it and let me know."

After that, she left, leaving Lily stunned. Did she want to be Head Girl? Well, yes, if she was honest with herself – she wanted to be on the front lines of Hogwarts education, and she thought she was kind enough and assertive enough she would be a good Head, if she put her mind to it. Head Girl Lily Evans – she smiled at the thought, but then immediately wiped the smile off her face. Even if she got nominated, she had to beat the other nominees: she knew that the others probably wouldn't be Muggleborn, and if Hogwarts Head Girl politics were anything like Ministry politics, that mattered quite a lot. But then, it was Dumbledore, who was well-known for not caring about blood status, but then, anyone could be swayed with enough money and influence, and people like Marie Avery, the Slytherin Prefect, had lots of those to spare. So really, she had little to no chance, she thought, and decided she wouldn't get her hopes high. She'd say yes to the nomination and then not think about it.

She didn't even mention it to Remus when she saw him waiting for her outside the corridor, choosing instead to say it had been nothing. No use making everyone expect anything, she thought to herself as a stone settled in her stomach.

* * *

At breakfast the next day, Lily wasn't expecting to receive anything but the next edition of the daily _Prophet – _her parents were the only ones who could contact her by owl (or so she thought) and she'd gotten a message from them a couple days prior. When a tiny, tawny barn owl flew in front of her carrying an equally tiny envelope (it was almost small enough to fit into the palm of her hand), then, she was very surprised. She was even more surprised at the careful print that read "Lily Evans, Hogwarts, Scotland, UK" on the front – it was an even, measured sort of writing that could _almost _be mistaken for print, if not for the slightly lopsided letters. It was her sister Petunia's handwriting.

Petunia had never liked magic, and she and Lily had not talked by letter in more than four years. When she had gone back to Cokeworth for Autumn Break, Petunia had not even visited, using the excuse that her and the bloke she was seeing (some fellow with the last name Dursley) were taking a vacation that had been planned out far enough beforehand that she could not spare the time to see her sister. But if she was being honest, Lily preferred that. She'd been wronged by Petunia enough times that she was granted that much, she thought.

Therefore, it must be an emergency for Petunia to contact her by _owl _(although presumably it was one of the school owls that picked up letters to Hogwarts from the Muggle post). Lily tore open the letter hurriedly, ruining the brown paper envelope; a piece of lined paper, like the kind from a notebook fell out.

"Lily,

I know it's been a long time. I would like to invite you to spend the holidays with me for Christmas break at my flat in London.

Thank you,

Petunia Evans"

That.. was not what she was expecting. She blinked, once, twice, thrice, and then read the letter again to make sure she was reading it correctly. Petunia, who had mocked and taunted her for _years, _wanted to have her over for break. Petunia, who had not even attended the last few years' Christmases at the Evans household in favor of her friends and her boyfriends and whoever else, and who had gotten an apartment hours away immediately after graduating.

A white-hot anger came over her – why had Petunia decided to do this, right when Lily had wanted to decide she didn't need a sister anymore? She knew it was selfish. She knew it was wrong, and mean, and not the right thing to do. But she wanted to burn that letter _so badly_.

She looked again at it, noticing little details she'd missed: the thickness of the lined paper, the one that Petunia used to practice her hand-lettering ("every young woman _must _know how to write a proper card", their mother had told them) and the slight shake of the words that indicated a trembling hand.

It was an olive branch, crafted with more care and patience than Lily had ever seen from her sister, and she felt a surge of affection for Petunia. How hard had it been for her to write this, when she'd spent so long trying to deny Lily ever existed?

At the same time, though, Lily didn't know if she could forget. It was the right thing to do, of course, to reply, to set up that meeting over Christmas holidays and then comment on the lovely lights and the delicious food once she got there. She was _supposed _to put everything in the past.

But how could she, when Petunia had spent so many years pretending she didn't exist?

* * *

If Professor McGonagall was shaken by the news on Saturday, she did not show it in her Transfiguration class to the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sixth years on Monday. Instead, she focused on drilling them harder than ever on nonverbal spells.

"You think maybe she's trying to kill us before the Death Eaters do?", Peter quipped, "Because she's doing a brilliant job of that right now." His face was scrunched up in concentration.

"You're doing the incantation wrong, Wormy – it's more of a flick than a straight line." James, who was his partner, pointed out, demonstrating with a plank of wood that burst into flame soon after.

Peter considered this and tried again, and the plank of wood in front of him weakly sputtered with flame soon after. Professor McGonagall looked over and gave him an approving nod.

"Thanks Prongs, can't imagine what I'd do without you."

"Fail Transfiguration, by the looks of it." Sirius, who had got the spell on the first try, interrupted. He had been partnered with Remus, who had also gotten it with relative ease, though not nearly as fast as Sirius or James. Remus, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd Moony go?" Peter asked, and was met with a sour glance from Sirius in return.

"Dunno – he just got mad and left. It's not even close to the full moon, _honestly."_

"You think maybe it's because of what happened at breakfast?" James asked.

"The being serious thing? Nah, he doesn't hold grudges." Sirius replied confidently.

* * *

Later that day, Marlene McKinnon was taking her usual route from Transfiguration to Potions when she overheard a voice in the corridor, and she ducked down behind a statue to listen. (She was a Gryffindor, but she always said being a Gryffindor meant being brave, not being reckless, no matter how much some other members of the House wanted it to be.)

"Hey Macdonald, how does it feel to know _your kind _is going to be wiped out soon?" The sneering voice of Liam Nott, Slytherin fifth year, echoed in the hallway. The "Macdonald" in question was probably Mary Macdonald, a Hufflepuff fifth year who got picked on often by the Slytherins for her Muggle heritage. She was, rather unfortunately, both quiet and not very good at jinxes (though her Herbology ability was second-to-none), which made her an easy target. Marlene prepared her wand, but before she could leave, the confident, almost bored, voice of James Potter rang through the hallway.

"Hey Nott, how does it feel to know _your kind _is going to put into Azkaban soon?" He said, and though Marlene could not see what happened next, she could very easily guess what had happened by the cries from Nott.

"Really, Potter, you're going to try to use my own jinxes against me? I'd thought you were a bit more _creative _than that." Severus Snape drawled, and Marlene's eyes widened. Two-on-one wasn't great for James (although why he had been wandering around alone, she didn't know – she could count the number of times she'd seen him alone on her fingers), but if it was Snape, she'd better not intervene. He'd want to fight his own battles with the Slytherin.

Marlene had never really known what to think of Snape, anyways. The few times she had studied with him and Lily, he had seemed to be a decent sort of bloke, but then, he was always awful when Lily wasn't around. Anyone with half a brain could see he was in love with Lily, but then, no one could tell whether Lily felt the same way – or was it just pity? Marlene shook her head – she didn't want to get involved in the complicated affairs of her fellow sixth-year Gryffindors, she never had – and prepared to leave.

As she peeked out behind the statue, she saw both Nott Snape laying limply on the floor, unconscious; James looked at her with a radiant grin on his face.

"Knew someone was there – glad it wasn't a Slytherin at least. They're all scum nowadays, aren't they? Especially him." James nudged Snape with his foot.

Marlene nodded, although a bit hesitantly (how powerful was James Potter that he could take out Snape that quickly and silently?). James left.

* * *

"Hello, my wonderful friends and fellow Marauders." James announced a few minutes later to the group gathered in the Room of Requirement, all pouring over their own sheet of parchments and a book.

"What's got you so peppy? Forgotten about the essay on Felix Felicis due tomorrow, have you?" Remus asked without looking up from his parchment. He was writing words so fast James could barely see his hands – Remus had always procrastinated the most of the four, though Peter came close.

"What do essays matter when there's some madman out there trying to kill all the Muggle-borns? Shouldn't we be doing our part in fighting him?" James replied, a bit too jovially for Remus' taste, and the taller boy looked up, finding him smiling.

"You were the one who said it wouldn't lead to anything." Peter sighed, "What's happened now?"

"Even if it doesn't, the Slytherins need to be knocked down a peg." Sirius announced, looking rather pleased, though both Remus and Peter knew that it was not at the thought of hexing Slytherins, but that his friend had come back.

* * *

It was not yet Christmas, but it was close, or as much as mid-November can be considered "close". And of course, that Tuesday, the Marauder's mistletoe had began.

The Marauder's mistletoe was a tradition, a great feat of magic put to a use that was not _quite _immoral, but close (according to some). It went like this: every year, from November 15th up until the Christmas holidays, enchanted sprigs of mistletoe would pop up in the hallways, but only to students walking in pairs where one or both of them had romantic affections towards the other. It had started in fourth year, when Sirius had wanted an easy way to see if Carol MacDonald liked him and the Marauders had wanted an easy Christmas prank, and it had such a high rate of success that year that they had brought it back every year following. (There were also a good deal of people who _hadn't_ liked it, but Sirius preferred to look on the bright side).

This was to the great discomfort of Anne, who _really _would've preferred not to get caught under the mistletoe with Remus (since considering how obvious she was being, it would have been impossible for him to not hear about it, and since he hadn't said anything, it must have meant he didn't feel the same way), but knew that if they ended up being alone together anytime, whatever spell was on the mistletoe would definitely sense her feelings. She'd been scheduling other things over their regular study plans for a week now, and it was really rather unfortunate because Remus was much better than Lily or Lydia at helping her with Arithmancy (although to be fair, he'd had more practice and she didn't feel as bad asking him because she could repay the favor in Potions knowledge).

It was obvious, she knew, but it was slightly (she hoped) less obvious than it would be if she hadn't been avoiding him and mistletoe had popped up.

Anne _really _needed to get a hold of her feelings.

* * *

Alastor Moody, newly-appointed Deputy Head of the Auror Department, groaned. It was a Tuesday, and that meant it was time to report to the Head of the Aurors, Ernest Vance, what he'd found. And the answer was: nothing.

Nothing about this Voldemort person, nothing about how he'd gotten Cattermole, nothing about any of the Muggle killings. They'd left no survivors. Vance would _not _be pleased.

Moody would've guessed they'd have found him by now, or at least some semblance of a clue. Catching Dark Wizards was, after all, their job, and they were rather good at it. Usually, it was easy to track people down with the vast resources of the Ministry.

Unfortunately, it seemed Voldemort was not a usual sort of wizard. He sighed. They'd catch him eventually, of course. They always did. But how long would it take, and how many lives had to be lost before then?

* * *

It did not take much time at all for Lily to feel guilty and write the letter, much as she hated the thought of it. She defiantly wrote it on parchment with a quill, though she almost always sent the letters to her parents on regular lined paper with ballpoint pens – she was a witch, and she refused to pretend she wasn't. If Petunia truly wanted her over for Christmas, she would have to deal with that, she resolved.

Then she thought she wasn't being fair, and ended up copying it onto paper anyways. Transfigured lined paper, the kind that was more expensive and that she only kept for special occasions, because Petunia had sent her a letter on pricey paper and she didn't want to reply with the cheap stuff.

It was a simple letter, but she went through no less than sixteen copies before she had one that was perfect, with no shake in her hand or imperfectly crossed 't's. Her mother would be proud, she knew – it was perfect enough to be a wedding invitation.

It read,

"Dear Petunia,

Yes, that sounds good. When will work for you?

Sincerely,

Lily"

She simply could not find the time to send it though; she was just too busy. (Or that's what she told herself, anyways.)

* * *

Arcturus Prince, Seeker for the Gryffindor Hogwarts Quidditch team ever since Sirius Black had resigned during the previous year, had been rather annoyed that the captain James Potter had not scheduled a practice in about a week. They were so close to winning the Cup, and if they just beat Hufflepuff in the last match, they'd have it (although Hufflepuff was doing well, anyways).

As such, he was very pleased when he saw the notice posted on the Quidditch board on Wednesday that they had scheduled practices every day for the next two weeks, although he knew he wouldn't be on Saturday when they started (James worked them hard).

Anyways, they were doing well: they would win the Cup, he was sure of it. He could not wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Lily, what are you doing for the next Hogsmeade weekend?" Anne sat down next to her friend at the library the same day.

"Hm, I hadn't decided – when is it, anyways?" Lily said off-handedly.

"This week."

"_This week?_" Lily repeated in disbelief, as she'd thought there wouldn't be one for another month.

"Yes, it's right after the match, hadn't you realized?" Anne, of course, had kept up with the schedule. She usually did.

"I hadn't actually."

"Well, in that case, do you want to go to the bookstore with me? I've heard there's a new Muggle collection." Anne said with a bright smile.

"Trying to avoid Remus again?" Lily teased with a half-smile, finally looking up from her book.

"I'm trying to make plans with my lovely friends who I barely see nowadays, thank you very much." Anne brought her hand to her heart, opening her mouth in a sort of mock gasp.

"We have half our classes together, we study for hours every day in the library every day together, and we live together."

"Exactly, and we're not even sick of each other yet! That must mean we're destined to make more plans."

"Oh, alright."

Anne grinned, and brought out her notebook. Lily may not have been as excellent an Arithmancy tutor, but she was a great companion in Hogsmeade. (She could only think of one person better, and she was currently avoiding him).

* * *

"Lily, can I talk to you?" The girl in question looked up from her Charms essay ("_10 Uses for Summoning Charms"_ – an OWL topic, but then Professor Newt had never cared about teaching for tests, anyways), and met the eye of the boy she had rejected to hear out so many times in the past – Severus Snape.

It was nighttime, and there were few students in the library, especially in the back section her table was in, at this hour. Anne had left, too. She'd have bet anything Severus had cast a nonverbal _Muffliato, _too, just in case, and he'd invented some excuse about getting a book for an essay to his dormmates. She saw right through him; that was why she'd replied to this question with 'no' so many times before, but she had to admit he never stopped trying. Probably, he thought she was weak enough to give in _eventually_, just like she had when his friends had hexed Mary Macdonald in fourth year, and throughout the many Gryffindor-Slytherin battles where he had been willing to brutally curse anyone in her House with Dark Magic Lily knew was barely toeing the line of illegal. She'd told herself that she wouldn't forgive him now, though; she had to see him for what he was, now.

But something in her heart ached when she looked at him, and she took a few seconds to study him,_ truly _study him in a way she hadn't since third year when he'd told her about the Dark Arts club he was joining and she had questioned for the first time if she really wanted to be friends with him. He was pale, almost to the point of being sallow, and it made the dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his forehead stand out all the more – had they always been that bad? Possibly the NEWT-level work was getting to him, but he was brilliant anyways, and she didn't think it was too much of a stretch for him to perform nonverbal spells, considering he'd invented his own starting from fourth year. No, he was definitely stressed about something, and it looked like it was killing him. Lily felt a pang of pity – or was it empathy? She'd never admit it – for him. The ruins of what used to be her best friend.

"Lily?" He asked again, and though she'd spent so long insisting she would never talk to him again, she found herself nodding, numbly agreeing.

If she was being truly honest with herself, she would've admitted that the letter from Petunia had shaken her up, and was eating her inside out with guilt for not replying. In fifth year, this would have been everything she'd ever wanted, and even now, there was a part of her that wanted to have the same close relationship to her sister she'd once had. The only problem was that there was a bigger part that didn't want to get hurt again, and that was wary of whatever Petunia's reasons behind this olive branch could be. But she knew it was selfish, and wrong, and she prided herself on not being selfish, most of the time. If she was being honest with herself, she knew that she just wanted to feel compassionate again, and that was the reason she'd nodded, but she kept that dangerous thought at the back of her mind, because it was even more selfish.

"I just—wanted to say sorry." Lily nodded again at this, knowing it was completely sincere: his eyes were bloodshot and pained.

"It's okay." She said, with a smile that was torn somewhere between melancholy and heartbroken. How had they ended up like this, truly?

"_Sev!" Lily went up to her best friend while he was packing his things after class, whom she hadn't seen since she had gotten sorted into Gryffindor two days before – Gryffindors and Slytherins didn't have any classes together until Potions, and there was no Potions on Mondays. _

"_We'll still be friends no matter what, right?" Lily asked, and Severus nodded hesitantly, though not without a glance towards the other Slytherins in class (she would brush it off then, but later, she used that hesitation as more ammunition to not forgive him). _

"_Want to meet in the library after classes and start on homework?" He asked, and she nodded eagerly. It was set. _

They hadn't broken the arrangement for five years, until that fateful day in fifth year. But once she looked back to those times, she saw that there were plenty of things wrong with their friendship: she'd just dismissed the incidents, that was all.

"D'you want to work on that essay together?" He asked, not moving an inch. He was like James Potter in that regard now, although Severus had always been abnormally still and it didn't seem half as artificial with him. He just _was _still, she supposed, a quiet, almost lifeless sort of person. He was a follower sort even though he was brilliant enough to lead; a calm sort even though he had strong opinions. Severus kept his thoughts to himself most of the time, and though Lily had once prided herself on being able to guess exactly what he thought of a subject by the subtle changes in his eyes, the dark hazel was no longer a clear message to him.

"Okay." Lily replied, and he sat down across from her in silence. It wasn't quite comfortable yet, but neither was it unpleasant – just an odd sort of atmosphere, and she thought that eventually it would become less so. For now, it was alright, for him because he thought he'd finally cracked her (she saw a ghost of a smile on his lips as he started his essay, a rare sight for him working on any of Professor Newt's assignments, for he thought the professor was rather useless), and she could stop thinking about the letter.

She pretended not to notice the sprig of mistletoe that had popped up right above them, silently vanishing it before he could see.

* * *

"D'you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me, Lydia?" Her friend and current Head Boy, Frank Longbottom, asked in the library the next day, and Lydia was struck speechless.

Frank was rather in love with one of the other Gryffindor seventh years, she knew, an Alice Price who was so quiet (rather like Marlene, she thought offhandedly) that Lydia could count the number of times the girl had said anything to her on her fingers. Frank was one of her closest friends, and she'd known about his rather unfortunate crush (she had connections to nearly the whole school, and he chose the one girl she _didn't _know?) since fourth year.

"Given up on Alice, then, have you?" Lydia narrowed her eyes, "Or are you using one of those Muggle help book techniques again?"

"Guilty as charged, although I really think it'll work this time!" Frank grinned, lifting his hands into the air.

"Wouldn't it be much easier to, I don't know, _ask her?"_

"Yes, but what if she turns me down? Then I'll be really rather sad. I need to be sure, you know?" Frank pouted.

"Why do I even keep you around?"

"Because you appreciate having a loveable, intelligent, brilliant, loyal, friend?"

"Try again." It was easy, bantering with Frank like this. And it made her forget about how Reg Cattermole had looked before he left, which was always a plus.

"I'm rather offended you don't think I'm loveable, intelligent, brilliant, and loyal, you know."

"Technically, I never said that."

"So you think I'm loveable, intelligent, brilliant, and loyal?"

"I never said that either. Although with the way Alice is looking at you right now, she might well think that." Lydia wasn't kidding, either (though Frank definitely thought that she was, judging by the way he rolled his eyes) – she had caught Frank looking at Alice during meals more times than she could count, but she'd caught Alice looking at Frank just as many times. Really, with how obvious they were, it was rather remarkable they _weren't _already together.

"Hogsmeade, then?"

"Alright." She sighed, but she was smiling, so he knew she wasn't really that exasperated, anyways.

* * *

"So, how bad do you think Ravenclaw will be flattened?" Sirius asked casually from his seat in the third-row bleachers of the Quidditch pitch. It was the day of the long-awaited Quidditch match, and most everyone was excited.

"A Galleon says they're not going to last 30 minutes. Mend (he was referring to the Hufflepuff Seeker Ethan Mend) is brilliant on a broom, and Ravenclaw is already down a player with Cattermole leaving." James replied from his right, and Peter raised his eyebrows.

"I'll take that – Cattermole's substitute doesn't seem too bad, and the Ravenclaw Seeker did well against Slytherin, didn't he?"

Remus, of course, was reading a book instead of paying attention to the boys' banter. James had noticed him doing that a lot recently, and had half a mind to call him on it, when the announcer Richard Yan's voice rang magically throughout the stadium.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen, one and all, to the Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw match! This match will determine who ultimately gets to go against Gryffindor for the Cup, so it's a big one. Hufflepuff is predicted to win right now due to Ravenclaw's Cattermole leaving (Hufflepuffs cheered), but let's see if we can get an upset! (Ravenclaws cheered, along with some Gryffindors who thought it would be easier to beat them later.)"

"1… 2…. Let's START!" Yan had never bothered to announce any of the players, breaking a long-standing Hogwarts announcer tradition, but no one really minded (everyone knew all the players already anyways).

"Alright, we've got Ravenclaw's Chaser Evan in possession of the Quaffle, with Hufflepuff's Roy in close pursuit – but Evans has it grabbed tightly – oh no, he's been surrounded, looks like he's going to pass it to his fellow Chaser Ogden, the new Chaser serving as a substitute for Cattermole – never mind, Roy gets it and now he's racing over to the Ravenclaw side of the pitch – looks like Roy might get it in – ROY SCORES, 10-0!" Yan bellowed, and Sirius and James exchanged glances.

"That bet's not looking good, Peter" James chortled, "Sure you want to keep it on?"

"Just give them—" But they would never know what Peter wanted to give them, for Hufflepuff had just scored a goal again.

"I pity the Ravenclaws, honestly, they've got the worst squad I've seen in ages." Sirius yelled over the deafening roar of the announcing, and both Peter and James nodded in agreement. Remus, who had apparently decided that it was impossible to read in the middle of this racket, shrugged.

"They didn't do badly against Slytherin." He responded finally, though not loudly enough for his friends to hear him through the cheers of the crowd – Hufflepuff had scored again – and as such, had to repeat his statement.

"Glad to see you're out of that book, Moony." Sirius said with a grin, extending his arm over Remus' shoulders, and though Remus felt a twinge of annoyance, he didn't say anything, instead grinning back.

In the end, Hufflepuff won, as had been predicted (the final score was 250-30 – it had been a blowout, only lasting twenty-one minutes). And, of course, there was a victory party afterwards.

* * *

Anne had heard rumors of the "brilliant" Hufflepuff victory party for hours, but Lydia and Lily weren't ready even past 9, so she went by herself, promising to meet up with them later (although she knew she wouldn't).

The corridors were deserted, even though it was still 15 minutes before curfew, and Anne knew everyone was probably still at the party. Hufflepuffs threw the best parties, after all, and this one had a lot to celebrate: the Quidditch Cup was in their grasp (if only they beat Gryffindor in the next match). It was always a good time, especially if you needed to get your mind off of things.

Anne _desperately _needed to get her mind off things.

Her... er... affliction had continued to get worse, and she could no longer even look at Remus without thinking that she was keeping things from him. But she didn't want to keep things from him, but neither could she tell him, because she couldn't break their friendship over feelings that were barely there. Instead, she pretended not to know, but pretending was an art that she'd never been good at.

She reached the secret entrance to the Hufflepuff common room at once, and carefully knocked on the door.

"Password?" Someone prompted, and she replied with a quick flick of her wand that spelled out 'QUiDdiTch' in bubble letters. It was a very exact science: the password had to be the right word, the right font, and the right letters had to be capitalized. One-too-many drunk Gryffindors had stumbled into a Hufflepuff party and caused havoc, and this was their way of ensuring that everyone was at least semi-sober when they came in.

Anne, of course, was entirely sober, partly due to the fact that she had no way to get Firewhiskey (the last Hogsmeade weekend had been over a month ago, and though she suspected there was a way to get into it from Hogwarts because of the sheer amount of alcohol the Marauders always had on hand, she didn't know of any) and partly due to the fact she thought it was a bit of a risk to drink at all right now (at this rate, she'd probably go up to Remus and blurt out her feelings). As such, it was rather easy to give the password to the unidentified Hufflepuff at the door (all door-people wore masks, so they couldn't be identified if the teachers came, and anyways they were usually third or fourth years), and the door opened immediately after.

It was — not what she'd expected. There were always a lot of people at Huffepuff parties, and especially Quidditch ones, but this? It was like every fourth-year and up had come: Anne even spotted _Emmeline Dunn_ in the room, albeit in the corner, swaying slowly to the beat of the music with a cup of water, but still! Emmeline Dunn! Since when had Emmeline Dunn even known that parties _existed_, what with her being in the library all of the time?

Anne scanned the rest of the room, concluding that it was stuffy, crowded, and smelled way too much like cheap Muggle beer. There was music playing from somewhere, a rock number that had too much drum for Anne's taste, but was a good song to dance to, and she could feel the thrumming of the bass from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. In the corner, she spotted a bowl of punch (almost definitely spiked with loads of beer, because it was rather a bit cheaper than Firewhisky), but no one was crowded around it, having hushed conversations, like usual. It seemed that today, everyone wanted to dance (although really, with _that_ loud music, was it even possible to have a conversation?), year and Anne was not opposed.

She downed a glass of the blood-red punch, first, and then joined a group of sixth- Ravenclaws, accompanied by — oddly enough — Peter Pettigrew, who was a frequent visitor at these types of things but was almost never seen without his friends. Thank god, because Anne really didn't want to see Remus right now, although Peter did shoot her a bit of a funny look when she didn't ask the obvious question.

She danced — although she wasn't really dancing, but neither was anyone else, not really. "Dancing" was different. "Dancing", with the capital D, was old-timey and romantic, with a full skirted dress in a rich, deep red. "Dancing" was quiet, and the music was slow, and there was a sparkle to it, like the feeling you got when you drank champagne or exchanged just the briefest of smiles with the one you loved. "Dancing" was pale pink and dark garnet and silk ties that made your breath hitch.

This? This was moving along to the beat, letting your worries fade away in favor of that drum that you normally hated. It was getting lost in murky shadows that coiled and turned like a wave; it was the pink of your cheeks and the navy of a dress that was at least five inches shorter than a Hogwarts-dress-code-appropriate one.

And she quite liked "Dancing", but there was something to be said about this, too, even if it was only a good distraction.

* * *

The newly-returned James Potter had no reservations about going to parties; in fact, he was eager to as soon as Sirius had mentioned the idea. It was because of this (well, and Peter's coaxing) that Remus found himself alone at the edge of the "punch" table with a half-full plastic cup he'd conjured from one of the many balloons at the party (although whether this God-awful concoction could even be considered drinkable was a question he didn't know the answer to), listening to the music reverberate through his body like a heartbeat.

The conversation he'd overheard played over and over in his mind, running to the beat of the music.

"Did you hear? Anne Bainsbridge kissed Richard Vance!" He didn't know where James, Sirius, or Peter were, though he suspected they'd gotten separated too. It was too crowded to stay with anyone, anyways. And neither Sirius nor James had ever given up the opportunity to get drunk and party.

"The Gryffindor? Good for her, I thought she was going to be single forever." _Thump, thump, thump. _ He took a swallow of his punch, and coughed: it burned going down. He could already feel himself getting tipsy, though – he'd always been a lightweight, and Firewhiskey was strong, even when it was combined with cheap beer.

"Well yes, but does that mean she's not into Remus Lupin anymore? They're always together." Another swallow. He didn't cough this time.

Remus was not a fool, or he was not enough of a fool to not realize Anne fancied him (but no one could be _that _much of a fool, anyways, what with at least half of their mutual friends having told him, and the way she was avoiding being alone with him nowadays). He was simply also not enough of a fool to think that it would work out. _Damn. _

Another swallow.

He people-watched, for a bit. He liked to people-watch: he always had been a behind-the-scenes sort of person. He'd never be an adventurer, not like Anne or James or Sirius. He'd reeled himself back too much, keeping his "furry little secret" all those years. And though he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, he couldn't think of a word that would describe him less than brave.

Another swallow. He looked into the cup, and found it was empty. Well, that was okay. He had to leave, anyways.

"Did you hear? Anne Bainsbridge kissed Richard Vance!" But as the words echoed in his head, he found that he was glued to his spot.

* * *

While about ninety-nine percent of Hogwarts was partying their hearts out, Lily went to send the letter. It had now been almost a week, and she had finally resolved to trudge to the Owlery to send it off. She hoped one of the Muggle Post owls would be there – Petunia would _not _appreciate an owl coming to her flat personally. She entered the room, a rather awful stench making her wrinkle her nose (she had always suspected Dungbombs must have been developed using the smell of an Owlery), and was surprised at the fact that it was not empty. James Potter (the messy hair was recognizable even from only the back) was there, sending a letter using one of the school owls (didn't he have his own owl? Lily distinctly remembered him bragging about getting one during fourth year.) He turned at the sound of her stepping into the room, and their eyes met for a brief second, but then he turned back around, apparently choosing to ignore her. Oh, well. Better than he'd been in fifth year, anyways.

As Lily searched for an owl marked with the blue tag on its foot that meant it would carry things to and from Muggle post offices, though, she suddenly heard his voice, so abrupt she almost jumped.

"Don't do things you'll regret." It was stony, but there was a bit of softness she could detect. He kept his back to her, but she could smell the cheap booze on him. So he'd been to the party – _of course _he had. Everyone had. And loud parties were a prime "James Potter" kind of place. All the same, it surprised her a little bit. Abnormally quiet James Potter would not go to parties, she thought.

"What are you saying?" Was this something she would regret? How would he _know?_

"I'm saying don't do things you'll regret."

"How do you know I'll regret it?"

"Because the way you look at that letter, Lily — it's like you're bracing yourself. Like, there's something you're not letting yourself hope for. And if you're not letting yourself hope, you've already given up." There was a more fight in his voice now, and it almost made Lily reassured because James Potter being monotone, even with her, was simply not normal.

"You don't know anything." She said defiantly, but it was a pale defense – he was right, of course, but that didn't make it any less wrong to not reply.

"I never said I did." He went back to the monotone.

"We're not friends."

"I never said we were." Lily saw the owl he'd been sending as it flew away, a flash of blue on its leg. Why was James Potter, a pureblood, sending letters through Muggle post?

"So, why try to stop me?"

"I don't know." With that, he turned and left the Owlery.

She didn't send it.

* * *

A/N: Ay chapter two is finally up, although it took a bit longer than expected haha (I also updated ch 1 with breaks so it's hopefully a bit more readable now). Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed and have a great day : ) Reviews are appreciated since I'm a beginner at this! Also thank you so much to the person who followed this story I'm glad you like it 3


	4. Chapter 3: Signs

Chapter 3: "Signs"

In the most distinct moments of our lives, there are signs. We usually think of 'signs' as referring to some signal from the heavens, a sort of fate which many of us don't like to believe in. But that is missing the whole point: signs are defined not by if they're a signal for what is fated to be, but just by if they are something that "indicates the probable presence or occurrence of something else". That may an overly reductionist point of view, perhaps; but it still stands that we see signs among us, around us, in many forms, all the time. Even in one single day, one twenty-four hour span, there are signs. But whether we make something out of them or whether we choose to ignore them, that is up to us. And when we make decisions based on them in the future, it would do us well to remember: _these were the signs. _

10:13 A.M., Great Hall

It wasn't until later on, much later on, that Lily would question James Potter's use of her first name, or even remember it. But, she'd defend, she had a lot to think about. Which she did.

She had been there – at the Owlery, ready to send off the beautifully penned letter – and then James Potter had simply burst in (well, he had already been there, but that was besides the point), told her not to send it, and she hadn't sent it. Truthfully, she had been waiting for some signal, any signal, that it would be alright to not send it, but from James Potter of all things?

He _had _been oddly kind, though. And now she was at the same impasse she'd been at for a week. To send the letter or not to send the letter?

"Lily, are you alright?" Anne asked, waving a hand impatiently in front of Lily's face. "Zoning out again, huh?"

"Just homework." Lily said with a brief flashed smile. She had been doing this a lot nowadays, she would think later, but once again, she would defend it as having a lot to think about.

"Stop thinking about homework, we're about to have the first Hogsmeade weekend in ages!" Anne retorted, bright and bubbly as ever.

"Christmas shopping then?" Lily questioned, eager to change the topic. Anne nodded.

"Well-I'll-see-you-in-Hogsmeade-then-bye!" Anne replied in a rush, and left all at once. Lily was left alone at the table, looking up to see the trio of James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter quickly approaching. _Oh, that's why _(although Remus wasn't with them)_. _

She issued the perfunctory nod to Peter, and the usual glare to Black and Potter, and began packing up to leave.

"Oi, wait Evans," Sirius called, "d'you want to meet in Hogsmeade today?"

"Since when were we close enough friends to meet in Hogsmeade?" Lily sighed, with an exasperated look on her face. Just when James Potter had been doing so well – and he got Sirius to ask her instead of asking her himself, too?

"Well, as you might've noticed, a certain person-" James started, making a show of pretending to look around "—who appears to not be present, or perhaps she's just left has been ignoring my dear friend Remus."

"Perhaps you should go take it up with her then? As you so eloquently pointed out, she's _not here." _Lily answered, annoyance flickering in her eyes. She wasn't going to fight Anne's battles for her, and anyways it was _their _fault. They'd come up with the enchanted mistletoe, after all.

Honestly, if Lily had thought it would affect them in any way whatsoever, she would have told them that the mistletoe was not, and had never been, a good idea – it had broken up more couples than it had made, and there was a certain arrogance associated with taking away the right to do something like confess that didn't sit right with her. She was a romantic, perhaps, but she also believed in free will, and the mistletoe made it impossible to have, and it was just – accepted, somehow, by all of Hogwarts: even she had thought it was nice, once or twice when she was dating Miles Dell in fifth year. It was really quite dystopian, if one thought about it. But of course, she knew that they would not listen, and so instead she glared at them again.

"Ah, my friend, you forget that as friends of an oh-so-adorable couple—"

"They're not a couple" Lily interrupted.

"But they will be, can you deny that?" Peter chimed in, and when Lily did not reply, he continued with "Exactly. So, what if we just speed up the process a bit?"

"This is—this is _exactly _the sort of thing I should've known you would do," Lily sputtered angrily. "Playing God like you're the only people in the universe, of course." She aimed the comment at all three Marauders present, but she looked directly at James when she said it.

"And where do you get off accusing us of that, when you're sitting on your high horse being friends with Snape? At least we don't study with supporters of the Dark Arts." James accused, glaring fiercely back.

"I don't know how many times I have to remind you, Potter, but my friends are none of your business." Lily replied icily.

"Oh, because the fact that your _friend _is going to follow a Dark Lord and torture Muggleborns for a living isn't relevant to me, I'm sure." James said, a fire in his eyes that surprised Lily – he wasn't usually so worked up during their arguments. In fact, she could only remember one time previous, and that was their first argument on the first day of classes, in which they'd been partnered up for Potions, and he insisted on following the book while she insisted on taking a different approach. In the end, they'd done a bit of both and ended up melting the cauldron. Never in the five years since had she seen him not cool and collected, and truth be told, she got a sort of pleasure in realizing that she'd finally wound him up just like he had to her every time he'd asked her out in fifth and sixth year.

"I've no reason to defend him to the likes of you." Lily said, partly because she believed it and partly because she could not truly, wholeheartedly defend Severus, and she got up from her seat at the table and left the Great Hall.

"Well, that didn't work." Sirius said dejectedly.

"Maybe if Prongs hadn't been so quick to talk about Snape—" Peter started, but was met with looks of shock from both Sirius and James.

"C'mon Pete, it's _Snivellus_, we've got to use every opportunity possible to bring him up!" Sirius replied, very slowly and emphatically as if he was talking to a small child.

"I just don't get why she hangs around him, honestly: doesn't she know the types of things he's done?" James questioned honestly, scratching his head. This was met with a shrug from both Sirius and Peter, which annoyed James a bit because you could never tell if shrugs meant "I don't know" or "I don't want to talk about it", and if it was the latter, he wanted to force them to talk about it anyways. Remus and Anne could wait: Lily Evans, after all, was muggleborn, and for all her faults, he would not like to see her get hurt by the likes of Snape.

"Anyways, plan B?" Peter asked.

"It'll just have to be an ambush – they won't see it coming." Sirius replied.

"And also, we should work on that plan for the Slytherin Common Room: do you think flooding will be enough or should we do something else?" James added, casting a whispered _Muffliato. _

"Dead fish, maybe?" Peter suggested, but this was shot down by both Sirius and James, who realized how awful it would be to transfigure objects into tens of rotting fish. They weren't looking for a punishment for them, after all.

"How about we put a banner that says 'Worst house'?" James asked, and Peter and Sirius shared a look.

"Look, Prongs – not that we don't hate Snape and Nott and Macnair and all of those too, but it's just that – there are some good people in Slytherin, too, you know?" Sirius answered after a long moment of silence.

"I don't think so." James replied.

"I think you've just been affected a lot by this whole Voldemort rubbish – don't worry, they'll definitely catch him soon." Sirius replied, and Peter nodded in agreement.

"You know what my dad said, when I went back home over the Autumn holidays? He said to be careful, because Grindelwald's rise was exactly like this." James had a serious look in his eyes, almost too serious for a 16-year-old-wizard, and his shoulders were set.

"I would know, I was there, and you know what I think? I think there's been dozens, no hundreds, of dark wizards that the Ministry's been able to catch. And I don't think that we should just pretend they don't exist and fearmonger just because we've got one warning from someone who doesn't work in the MLE in any capacity." Sirius retorted, his words perhaps just a bit too biting, but could anyone blame him? He just wanted his friend back to normal, after all.

"Yeah—yeah, you're right," James relaxed a bit. "There must've been plenty of cases before this, too, right?"

Peter and Sirius nodded.

"Alright, so best to keep it simple for the Slytherins. Sealing charm on the younger ones' doors to keep out water, yeah?"

"Sounds good, although how will they get in?" Peter asked.

"That's for them to figure out: they are Slytherins after all, can't make it too easy on them." Sirius winked.

11:45 A.M., Hogsmeade, 29th November 1976

"You know that I support you, Anne, but.." Lily stared down at the "present", a rather ugly monkey stuffed animal with a massive smile on its face that she felt vaguely threatened by.

"No, no, it'll be _perfect,_" Anne interjected excitedly, taking the monkey in her hands.

"You know, this may be why your present-giving-reputation is so bad." Lily quipped. Anne was notorious for giving the worst presents – one reason why she'd chosen to shop with Lily. If she was being honest, she couldn't understand _why, _considering the amount of effort she put into presents (Lily would tell her that it was perhaps an overabundance of effort).

"No but see, it's because there was this one time, I think in fourth year – or maybe fifth, since that was the year you really started disliking Potter and I distinctly remember you having had a row with him the same day, but anyways – we were talking about exactly these sorts of monkeys, and he mentioned that he'd like to have one of these, I'm pretty sure." replied Anne.

"You're a bit freakish, you know that?"

"It's not my fault I have a good memory." Anne stuck out her tongue at Lily, and petted the monkey with an air of fondness Lily thought would be better reserved for puppies or kittens or the occasional dragon (hey, once you got past the scales, a Common Welsh Green could be almost cute).

"And _what _is he going to do with this?" Lily was referring to Remus, who Anne was currently gift-shopping for despite the fact that she was also currently trying to pretend he did not exist.

"I dunno, keep it in his dorm and reminisce?"

"Gifts are supposed to be useful, you know?" Lily sighed, but she had no hopes of convincing Anne, who did not usually take other peoples' advice, to choose a different present.

"Well, _I _think it's adorable!" retorted Anne.

"But will he?" Lily asked, almost as a last-ditch effort, and Anne's face went a bit cloudy.

"You know what, Lily, I think you may be right—" Anne began after a pause long enough that it was odd, almost slowly, "—and wipe that smirk off your face, I still think it's a good gift idea!" Here, Lily nodded, because she thought that it would be better to just quit while she was ahead.

"But not practical." Lily answered.

"But not practical." Anne echoed. "What would you suggest, then?"

"Something useful, that shows him you care. A book, maybe?"

"Isn't that a bit cliché?"

"Cliché only gets to the point of being cliché because it's good." Lily sing-songed, and Anne scowled: she did not believe that for a second, but maybe it would be good to do something different this year.

"Let's head to Flourish and Blotts th—" Anne started, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Potter, Black, Remus, and Peter, who appeared to have come out of thin air, although thankfully did not appear to have heard their conversation. Black, egregious flirt that he was, put his arm around Anne and started talking.

"What a brilliant coincidence, you know our good friend Remus—" Sirius gestured to Remus, as though Anne had never met him— "he was just going to go to Flourish and Blotts as well, you could go together!"

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, Black but—"

"No, that sounds good. Remus?" Anne asked abruptly, and Remus nodded, though he seemed quite surprised.

11:52 A.M., Hogsmeade

Anne stood awkwardly, keeping her gaze anywhere but Remus' eyes, which was a fate avoided quite easily considering she was a fair few inches shorter than Remus, who towered over all of the sixth years and most of the seventh. They were a clear light blue now, as pale as the ocean on a sunny day, reflecting all of the light from the surprisingly warm November day.

"So, Flourish and Blott's? I need to get a new copy of the Potions textbook." Remus said finally, meeting her eyes and speaking in a calm, relaxed tone. _Right. _It was Remus after all, Anne told herself, he wouldn't care about whatever had happened last night anyways.

"Seems like a dreadfully boring task," Anne remarked flippantly, in as normal of a voice as she could muster, "what's in it for me?" She couldn't shop for his present with him being there, after all. If she was being honest, she didn't know why she'd even said yes to this. Oh, well. 'What's done is done', she told herself.

"The satisfaction of knowing your best friend won't have to be dreadfully bored by himself?" Remus returned, raising one eyebrow.

"I guess that'll have to suffice," Anne conceded, shrugging her shoulders. "Better than going to the Three Broomsticks for the millionth time, anyways."

"How anyone can find that place interesting after all this time is beyond me. Let's?"

She nodded, and they started walking at a pace that was a bit too fast to be considered 'leisurely' for Anne, though she had no doubt that Remus was walking slower than he usually did.

"Did you go to the party last night?" Anne asked casually. "It was a big one."

"Nah, thought I'd skip since I had that History of Magic essay due."

"God, don't remind me. I haven't even started, and I wanted to enjoy this weekend without worrying about homework."

"Anne Bainsbridge, worrying about something? Did you drink something funny at the party?" Remus quipped.

"Now that you mention it, there was this odd sort of punch, but it was about par for the course for a Hufflepuff party."

"Bold of you to assume it wasn't par for the course for any sort of party."

"Have some House pride, will you? Gryffindor parties are never like that." Anne winked.

"You're right, Gryffindor parties are _worse. _Remember the Incident?" He was referring to a day in fifth year, right before the Easter holidays, where Gryffindor had won against Slytherin in their annual Quidditch match – Anne would swear up and down that she had never seen that many people drunk at once before, and that she never would again, if she could help it. The Common Room had stank for days, and at least one armchair was never found again.

"I've been trying to forget everything about that day, thanks." shuddered Anne, who had the recollection of herself getting a bit tipsy on whatever they had at the drinks table and sobbing uncontrollably (much to the detriment of Remus, who as her best friend and perhaps the only sober one in the room, had spent about an hour comforting her from the loss of her pet fish when she was seven).

"I thought it was quite an honor to Goldy's memory, actually."

"Goldy was a _fish_."

"Implying people can't feel things for their pets, are we?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare." Anne grinned at Remus, who grinned back. This… this was good. This was normal, and right, and why did she want something more again?

She looked at the glint in his eyes. _Oh, that was why. _

12:03 P.M., The Apothecary

Having finally (in her opinion, though really it had taken not more than a couple of minutes) shaken off the Terrible Trio (a name she'd made up herself, upon seeing Peter, Black, and Potter leave for God-knows-where), Lily decided that she would really much rather spend the rest of the day by herself than try (probably in vain) to find someone else she knew, and proceeded to the apothecary. She needed some new ingredients, anyways – her lacewings were almost gone, and her cauldron was almost rusted through with how many almost-mistakes she had made recently.

Lily entered the apothecary with a faint, if a bit artificial, smile, opening the heavy wooden door with one hand. The bell over the door tinkled pleasantly, and she nodded politely to the shopkeeper, a Mr. Humbert who had been the owner for as long as Lily had gone to the Apothecary. Lily liked him rather a lot: it was him who had told her to cast a Bubble-head charm when she entered the store (after seeing her rather… visible reaction to the smell), and he sometimes gave her a discount on whatever she was buying. He was a tall, thin man with a moustache as thick and full as any Lily had ever seen, almost to the point that it was cartoonish; he lived above the store, with his wife and (until recently) his daughter, who had been a Hufflepuff a couple years above Lily.

"Anything in particular, Miss Evans?" Mr. Humbert asked gruffly.

"Not today, just looking," Lily replied, "although I would not mind a new cauldron." Mr. Humbert's cauldrons, specially made, had always been the best cauldrons, after all – they rusted very rarely, and could handle most forms of magical abuse. Unfortunately, they were also _very _expensive, and as Christmas was coming up, Lily was not sure if she had the spare pocket change for one. She could always write home, of course, but she hated asking her parents for more money.

"Well, you're in luck, then, because I've just put out some more over there." At this, he gestured to a corner in the back of the store, which sparkled with the shining finish that Lily knew could only come from cauldrons. She nodded, and proceeded through one of the aisles in the middle of the store, which was labelled "Large creatures".

Mr. Humbert's store was small, and the aisles were cramped, but she had always liked it, and as she went through the rows, looking at everything in turn even when she was quite sure she did not need it, her artificial smile turned into a real one. She rather liked apothecaries in general: they were, she would say to anyone that cared to listen, filled with the magic of _possibility_: shelves and aisles full of it, of a result that could turn out to be anything, or nothing at all, or anywhere in between. She liked the cluttered stacks that seemed as if they would fall down with just the slightest push, the cold metal ladders that made her shiver when she put her hands on them to go up and get a dragon liver or bat wing, the thin plastic bags to put whatever you'd bought into. There was a certain warmth of choice, a sentimentality of being able to achieve anything you could possibly want, that drew her to Potions – it always had.

She was so caught up in observing the shelves, thinking about what potions would need what and which she wanted to experiment with in the coming days, that she did not notice Severus Snape talking with Lucius Malfoy, who had been Slytherin prefect during Lily's first, second, and third years. When she did notice, however, she was almost right in front of them, though (by some good fortune, she'd think later) they did not notice her. Lily ducked behind a particularly large crate of beetle eyes, though she wasn't exactly sure why (she and Sev had already made up, right?), which also happened to be a good idea.

"And you're _sure _you can do it?" Malfoy asked, with a sort of nervous tone that made Lily immediately anxious as well.

"Yes, yes, I know my Potions, Lucius." Sev answered impatiently.

"Remember that it's for _him_: it has to be perfect." Lily could not make out the answer to this, but she imagined Sev was probably rolling his eyes (and for good reason: he was the best Potions student in the school, and though she liked to fancy herself good at the subject, she knew that he was on perhaps a whole different level of brilliance with his innovative formulae).

"I'll leave you to it, then." Lucius said abruptly, and Lily immediately tried to make herself smaller behind the crate, though she needn't have worried: he went to a different aisle entirely. Once she heard Sev's footsteps also signal he had left a few moments later, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, leaving her hiding space and finally going over to the cauldrons.

12:06 P.M., The Three Broomsticks

"I'm fairly certain that this won't work out for you." Lydia said with a sigh, looking straight at Frank. "Is there no way you can ask her on a date like a normal person?"

"See, but I've got to be _sure_, you know, because otherwise I'll end up looking a fool if I'm entirely wrong and she couldn't care less about me." Frank replied, in the matter-of-fact tone that people who are overly confident about entirely the wrong things use.

"Isn't looking a fool the whole point of love?"

"No, the whole point of love is love. And it's not _love_, I'd get over her eventually."

"I've been listening to you whinge about it for the past six months. You're sure you'd get over it?"

"Yes. And that's all I'm going to say on that matter, because as my friend—" Here, he looked her directly in the eyes, with a solemn expression – "as my friend, you should be trying to encourage me, not telling me to get over it before it's even began!"

"Alright, here's your encouragement: you're a pretty good-looking bloke, you've got decent grades, even got Head Boy this year – what do you have to _lose_?" Lydia took a more serious tone, too – too serious, maybe, but she was genuinely quite confused. She had known Frank since third year (she'd been introduced by a mutual friend at her first Hogsmeade visit), and when they'd both said they wanted to be Aurors (although Lydia had long since given up that dream, considering the current climate), they'd become fast friends. One of the things that Lydia liked most about Frank was his decisiveness: he would do whatever he'd committed to, and not do the rest. But when it came to Alice Price, that had all gone right out the window. And Alice was alright, sure (although how alright she was, Lydia could not vouch for, considering they had barely spoken), but she could not help but question why Frank wavered around her so much, and she voiced this question to Frank.

"She's like… she's quiet, but when she talks, people _listen. _And not just because they're surprised: because she's got such good ideas, and she has this sort of way about her, I guess—and she's just the sort of person you can't help but fall in love with."

"So you _are_ in love with her?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

2:52 P.M., The Three Broomsticks

"Oi, isn't that Lily?" Peter said from the table at the Three Broomsticks that James, Peter, and Sirius currently sat at, with Butterbeers that they'd charmed Rosmerta into infusing the slightest bit of Firewhiskey with. It was nothing compared to the stuff they could get the Hog's Head, of course, but then, The Three Broomsticks was a lot nicer of a place – James swore a hag had flirted with him the last time he'd been there, and shuddered involuntarily at the recollection.

"Don't look so _disgusted_, Prongs, weren't you madly in love with her just a year ago?" Sirius joked, with James rolling his eyes and explaining he'd been thinking about the hag.

"Yeah, she was a bit of an odd duck – why d'you reckon she went for you and not me?"

"You give off the impression of an incorrigible flirt." Peter replied drily.

"Damn, just the impression? Looks like I'm not trying hard enough to be an incorrigible flirt then, I should step up my game."

James, meanwhile, had been thinking about Lily Evans, and his 'love' for her. He had never loved her, of course: really, it had been that she was in their year, she was a Gryffindor, and she was pretty (he'd thought it would be good to ally himself with her). He wasn't sure if he really fancied her anymore, either: appearances were not, as he'd thought in his younger years, the most important thing in the world, and though he admitted she was a talented witch and generally pretty, the fact also stood that she was rather annoying, too self-important for his tastes. Of course, he wasn't exactly sure what his taste _was_: he hadn't really dated since September, when he'd been with Prudence Parsly for about 3 weeks (they broke up officially because he was fond of Quidditch, and she was fond of going on dates, and those two things did not often work well together, but unofficially because she was a little bit too attached and James had taken to scheduling Quidditch practices every time she wanted to do anything). He wasn't like Sirius, whose self-proclaimed nature of being an 'incorrigible flirt' and well-bred good looks had led him to the beds of much of the Hogwarts population, or Peter, who had his eye on a different girl every few months (although he'd never confess to any of them). But, he thought to himself, it didn't really matter, did it, not with how the world was shaping up to be. He didn't want to rely on anyone, or be relied on by anyone.

Still, when he looked at the unmistakable copper-red hair of Lily Evans, ripping up a piece of paper slowly, almost lazily, with a lonely cup of Butterbeer (that definitely _wasn't _spiked) next to her, his intrigue was peaked, if only for the fact that he had never seen Evans so melancholy, and he rather wondered what was wrong with her.

"I'll be back in a sec, yeah?" James stood up from his chair, and went over to her.

"You alright, Evans?" He sat down in the seat across from her, and she glared at him, though he saw that there was no real animosity in it. She just looked… tired, perhaps. But there was a certain seriousness to it, a certain tell in her eyes, that told him it wasn't just being tired.

3:00 P.M., The Three Broomsticks

Lily was with James Potter.

She didn't know why. Nor did she know how. Well, to be honest, she knew both of things very well, and would analyze them in the upcoming days, weeks, and even months. But she didn't want to think about it just yet.

She looked down at the shredded pieces of paper littering the small booth, too small that words could hardly be discerned from it anymore. Then she looked at her Butterbeer, abandoned except for the lone sip she'd taken from it at the start because she needed an excuse to come here. She'd never liked Butterbeer, anyways. Then she looked back up, at him.

"Are you—are you all right?" James asked, with a worried air Lily could only describe as strange, though she could not help but admit it was also comforting. She had never seen him be this – kind? Would it be considered kind? – in her life, not to her. He was an arrogant, selfish, git, most of the time, and she was curious as to what had got into him, but she didn't think it'd be polite to ask, so she held her tongue.

"No," Lily replied honestly, "no, I'm not."

"Is this about the Owlery?" James asked, and she nodded numbly, turning her gaze away from his coppery brown eyes and back to the ripped remains of the letter.

"My sister wrote."

"And… er… that's not good?" He cocked his head to the side.

"It should be good, really."

"But it's not." James said decisively.

"It's not." She replied weakly.

"And why isn't it?"

"For six years, she's been telling me that I'm a freak, that I'm odd and strange and everything in between. And I'm supposed to just forgive her?" Lily cried, still in a hushed tone.

"You don't want to forgive her?"

"I do… I really do, and if she'd said this one or two years ago, it would've been okay. But now…"

"But now?"

"But now, there's a part of me that _can't."_ Finally, she looked back up at him, and her eyes were teary. "I can't, and I want to, but it's just been so long, and I can't help it, but I want to be angry, and I don't want to get hurt again."

"Won't you get hurt more if you don't forgive her?" He asked gently. Lily, through her tears and her numbness, would remember this moment later. She would think that she was surprised that James Potter was even able to be gentle, and she was surprised at the slight pain in his voice, like he was remembering things he'd rather have forgotten.

"But what if I just want to wallow in it, though?" She put her head down on the table, on top of the ripped-up piece offering for a friendship long forgotten.

"Well, that's okay, but you won't ever recover then." James explained patiently.

"I don't hate her. But there is a part of me that can't stand her."

"So then don't reply, if you don't think you can."

"But doesn't that make me a bad person, though?" Aha, James thought. So that was the root of the problem.

"You can't save everyone, you know."

"But shouldn't I at least try?"

"And what is _this_," he said, gesturing to the booth and her head on the table and the ripped-up letter in front of them, "if not trying?"

"It's failing."

"It's okay to take care of yourself first."

"Not if it hurts other people."

"Even if it hurts other people." James insisted.

"Is it?" She looked up.

"Yeah. Hey, listen, I have to leave, but promise me one thing." He said, checking his watch. Perfect – if he was given a couple hours, he could definitely pull it off.

"I'm not promising you anything." She was fully up now, regarding him with a suspicion he thought was completely unfounded considering the quality of the advice he'd given her and the fact that he was about to do something that was uncharacteristically nice of him for her.

"If there's a sign, promise that you'll stop thinking about that letter, yeah?" He continued, pretending he hadn't heard her.

"I don't believe in fate." Lily said primly. She was surprised James _did_: and with all of this 'sign' rubbish? "But alright, I guess." Truth be told, she thought she was indebted to him, and if this was all he was going to ask, she'd certainly oblige. And with a hasty goodbye from him, and a quick nod and quiet thanks from her, he was off.

"A civil conversation with James Potter. There are wonders left in the world, after all." She mumbled to herself, almost as a footnote. Nursing the Butterbeer, she picked up the pieces of the letter, stuffing them back into her coat pocket. Potter had been right about one thing – she definitely needed to stop thinking about it. She had Christmas shopping to do, after all.

4:08 P.M., Apothecary

"I don't know why Lily likes this place." Frank said, his nose crinkling like he could smell the store even through the Bubble-Head charm.

Lydia privately agreed, though she only said "she says it's exciting."

"Exciting in the way that watching grass grow is exciting, I imagine." Frank retorted, grinning. He ducked to avoid hitting a box of something that shook curiously, as if it was filled with angry bees (Lydia shuddered at the thought of it, knowing that bees were the exact type of thing the shopkeeper would store 'in case of breaking and entering'), and Lydia bowed her head a bit to do the same.

"So, what do you need?"

"A new cauldron – my old one's rusting through, and it's only been three months. I asked Lily, and she told me to come here."

"Looks like they're here." Lydia pointed to the shelf next to them, where there were indeed a collection of cauldrons.

"Reckon the color makes a difference?" Frank asked, looking at the variety of colors – the cauldrons all looked about the same except for that difference.

"Oh, of course, you know hot pink is better for affection and navy is better for luck." Lydia said drily.

"Seems a tad ridiculous, doesn't it?" Frank sighed. "All these colors."

Truth be told, they _were _a bit ridiculous: whereas normal cauldrons came in colors like copper or black, these came in artificial ones like hot pink or light green. Lydia remembered Lily had been teased for her cauldron, once upon a time back in third year, but they'd shut up when her excellent Wiggenweld Potion had earned her an exceptionally large bar of Honeyduke's finest and a favor, which she used on permission to look in the restricted section of the library (a place that Lydia had long been curious about, but had never seen) from Slughorn.

Frank picked the most unassuming one, and went up to the counter to pay; Lydia followed him, wanting to get out of the store as soon as possible. She'd felt the eyes of Alice Price on her, and now saw she was a couple aisles away out of the corner of her eye.

Lydia didn't mind Alice Price – really, she didn't – but there was one thing that was wrong with her, and that was that Frank was in love with her. Of course, she couldn't help that, and Lydia wouldn't want her to even if she could, but it was just… odd, that was all, that since fourth year, the only girl Frank had talked about had been her. He really was a decent sort of bloke, Lydia reflected, and she didn't know if Alice, who was abnormally quiet, would do well with him.

But ultimately, it wasn't her choice to decide who Frank loved, so she waved at Alice, who seemed surprised at being acknowledged but hesitantly waved back, and wove through the aisles.

6:57 P.M. – The Three Broomsticks

"Shall we head back, then?" Anne said finally, about thirty minutes after they'd finished the last of their Butterbeers (and twenty after Madame Rosmerta had started glaring at them, though she never stayed mad at the Marauders for long). They'd had a long day, going to Flourish and Blotts, then the Apothecary, then the Three Broomsticks, then the sweets store (Anne could never remember what it was called, somehow), then the owl emporium, and finally back to the Three Broomsticks.

It had been a good day, one where they simply enjoyed each others' company, and though Anne could not stop herself from wondering what it would be like to kiss him at some certain points, she thought she had hid it well enough that he wouldn't be able to tell.

"Yeah, sure." Remus blinked, like he'd been pulled out of a trance, and got up. "Great Hall? I'm rather hungry."

Anne faltered for a moment before agreeing, but at once decided she was done with the 'avoid Remus' thing: she didn't know how Lydia had managed it with Cattermole for so long (a whole month!). Anyways, she could just Vanish the mistletoe, couldn't she? And there was a chance it wouldn't show up at all: it was only a little crush, so maybe whatever spell had been cast on the mistletoe wouldn't be able to detect it.

"Sounds good." She grinned, and he grinned back – evidently, though she'd been avoiding him for quite some time, he thought everything was fine now. And it was, to a certain extent: she'd kissed that other bloke, hadn't she, yesterday, and she had read in one of Lydia's magazines that the best way to get over a bloke was to find someone new.

7:00 P.M. – The Three Broomsticks

Anne did not know, but while Remus had been in a trance-like state in the Three Broomsticks, he was really nonverbally undoing the mistletoe spell on Anne – he didn't want to get back into the castle and see she was already over him, which was ironic as he'd made it happen, by pretending to be oblivious for so long, and they'd developed a counterspell for it, just in case of emergencies (for example, Ella Mulciber last year, who had taken to the mistletoe as being a signal of 'true love' and endlessly pursued Sirius for about a week). Anyways, he told himself, they wouldn't notice because it wouldn't have been there otherwise, a fact which about seventy-five-percent of the Hogwarts population knew (there was a betting ring going on right now as to if Anne would end up with Vance, who had partnered up with her in Potions a couple times and – he knew from her telling – was a generally pleasant person). He couldn't stop himself from hoping, though, and that hope was what made him point his wand at her under the table, in a complicated wand movement derived from combining far too many spells at once.

It was an ingenious piece of work, the mistletoe, anyone would admit to that, and it oftentimes had very funny results as well, for Hogwarts romances weren't particularly deep. They'd worked for a full three months to get it right, mostly Sirius and James because they were the best at Charms out of the group (both Remus and Peter were both just barely passable, though Remus put in much more work and therefore achieved better grades) and it was a modified version of a summoning spell (they'd tried an automatic Transfiguration, but that had proven to be too complex) and a revealing spell. When they'd figured it out, they had been on cloud nine for three full days, right up until Sirius called McGonagall 'Minnie' and she sentenced him to about three months in detention. That had, unfortunately enough, put a damper to the festivities, especially when James had replied innocently with "would you prefer Mickey, professor?"

As it turned out, she preferred neither, and the Marauders had spent the next three months working as two teams of two to put the mistletoe into place. They'd only had to remove the spell from three people – Anne would be the fourth, and the first not to notice a difference.

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" He thought to himself, but cast the spell anyways and finally met Anne's eyes.

7:45 P.M., The Great Hall

"My god Prongs, do you see Snape?" Sirius guffawed, and James held back a laugh of his own when the Slytherin in question looked at them through a curtain of wet hair and shot them a glare of pure hatred.

"Honestly, you'd think that they would be a bit more grateful, seeing as we protected their things." James shook his head, wondering hen they'd gone so soft that they had resorted to waterproofing the rooms (and, at Sirius' constant urging, putting a permanent sticking charm on them).

A couple of the Slytherins looked like they were going to the teacher's table, but James knew that they couldn't be punished for this: it was a perfect crime, because they had alibis (they'd been seen all day in Hogsmeade and the water had only started right before dinner: they'd staged a mannequin of James and trusted that no one would be able to tell a difference). Just some good old fashioned soaking, for all the future Death Eaters, he thought with a vindictive streak that he was almost ashamed by (but not quite).

"—so immature, honestly." He caught the tail end of Lily's conversation, and rolled his eyes, but it had reminded him of the second coming prank, which was not really a prank at all – he'd say it was a sign, if asked. James checked his watch: it was the perfect time to sneak up to the Common Room and set the plan into motion.

If asked on why he did it later, he would say it was simply because he was a good person. If pressed, he'd say it was because he still fancied Lily. But it would be only to Lily, a few years later and in the dead of night, that he'd truly confess why it was: it was because the thought of Lily Evans, a witch who was an annoyingly morally-superior-know-it-all not being able to push herself to do the 'right' thing (and he knew it was right, and he knew she knew it was right, too, with all those quotes about forgiveness she liked to recite) scared him. And when something scared him, he did what any good Gryffindor would do: try to fix it, with an impulsiveness only seen in the brave and the truly foolish (although, he would argue, those were the same).

8:15 P.M., The Great Hall

"Attention, _please._" Dumbledore announced in a moderately loud tone, and the Great Hall fell silent almost immediately — it was not often that Dumbledore made announcements, and it was never for anything good.

He gestured to a broad-shouldered man standing next to him, who Lydia faintly recognized but could not tell from where. She did, however, know that he was not one from one of the older families — she'd had to memorize all of their members before coming to Hogwarts, a task set by her mother who had said that 'connections were the best way to get places'. Ironic, considering she had married a Muggle. Lydia couldn't deny the usefulness of these lessons, though, and she trained her eyes on the unfamiliar man. He was not very tall, though he stood up straight and had the sort of piercing blue eyes which made him look imposing; he was dressed in red Auror's robes with a golden badge, like a Head's badge, pinned to the front (though Lydia, sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table, was too far away to read what it said). Ultimately, she realized, it did not really matter _who _he was so much as why he'd come, and Lydia felt the sinking feeling in her stomach that something else had gone wrong. She looked over at the Ravenclaw table again, and got the feeling that they agreed with her — though the Ravenclaws were usually a quiet bunch, they were talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers, and Lydia could guess as to what they were saying.

"Er.. yes, well, I'm Auror Moody, and I wanted to make an announcement." He started hesitantly, with a gruff voice that didn't match his more nervous tone. He was not very good at public speaking, which meant it must have been an emergency to send him, Lydia thought to herself, and exchanged worried glances with Marlene, who was sitting across from her.

"So, we've — the Auror department, I mean — we've got reports of suspicious activity at Hogwarts. We'll be looking into these accusations further over the next couple days, and will be punishing every student found responsible to the fullest extent of the law." His eyes hardened at the last sentence, and he clenched his fist (though it was almost imperceptible if you weren't looking for it). He sat back down without dismissing them, but the students successfully interpreted it as a signal to go back to eating.

"What d'you think that was about?" Marlene asked the group sitting across from and next to her, which included Lily, Lydia, Anne, and interestingly Remus (who was seated next to the Marauders).

"Did you see how he looked at just the Slytherins? He didn't even glance at our table." Anne observed, and though Lydia had _not _seen that, she nodded because Anne's observations were usually right.

"Might've been because they were soaked." Lily said, with a pointed look at Remus, who had the good graces to look guilty, though still with a grin on his face.

"Probably a warning." Marlene agreed.

"But the Slytherins aren't all Death Eaters, though." Lily interjected, looking a little worried as she pushed the chicken on her plate around.

"Everyone knows all the worst wizards came from Slytherin." Lydia found herself saying, rather confidently for how little she believed in it. It was what they were supposed to believe, after all.

"Hm..." Lily remarked absently, and for the rest of dinner, she did not talk much at all. Lydia was not altogether surprised by this — the conversation she'd had with Lily a few weeks ago had proved she still cared for Snape. She could only hope that, for Lily's sake, she'd give up.

9:30 P.M., Lily's dorm

"Oh my god, what is _that_?" Marlene shrieked, and Lily pulled the curtains of her bed open. She'd been re-reading a favorite of hers, Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice, _and was nearly to the end. Dog-earing the book that was by this point, quite roughed up with four or five re-readings, she placed it on the bed and sighed.

What she stepped out to was chaos. It was a little fireworks show, right in their dormitory, with sparks zooming all over. Lily tried to catch one, but it fizzled out in the palm of her hand, not burning hot like a real firework but instead giving a pleasant cool sensation that made her hand feel like she'd just touched a water droplet.

And right in the middle of the mess that was the dormitory (it was a bit crowded, and the laundry basket was rather far), stood a firework, the largest of them all, that said 'SIGN'. Lily laughed despite herself. Pseudoscience, indeed.

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A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you're doing well 3 I thought the story was a bit jumpy so I added in time stamps, hopefully that should make it a bit better in terms of that. If you read it and would like to give me some feedback, I would love if you wrote a review (I also have a Tumblr now! xoxchibiri where I post more of my writing so if you want to send feedback there that works too!)

Last chapter, I got my first review on this story; thanks truehomiepip for your kind words ^-^ I find that often, Lily is really perfect/innocent/naive/etc. My Lily isn't (I hope) that - she's just a sixteen year old girl, trying to survive in a world that's descending into war. And she's not perfect, and she tries to be a good person, but sometimes, like all of us, she just can't. And that's okay.

Thanks everyone for your follows ! I'm a bit slow at updating but if you stick around I promise I'll show you a whole different take on the Marauders and a couple of good love stories to boot :)


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